


Anastasia: Retold

by J_Fontaine



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-02-13 00:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 97,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12971595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Fontaine/pseuds/J_Fontaine
Summary: With the help of two con-artists, a young orphan afflicted with amnesia embarks on a journey of self-discovery.





	1. Escaping the Gray Ghosts

Ten years felt like an eon in Soviet Russia.

Springs and summers were always fleeting, gone too soon like a genuine smile or hot, fresh bread. The icy fingers of a winter wind would caress the leathery necks of the populace as early as mid-September.

Every long winter was a war pitting man against hunger. In the frozen streets of St. Petersburg, where the air smelled of factory soot and lost hope, where the ash-gray of slush along uneven sidewalks seemed to always match the sky, hunger was victorious over the strongest of men.

The strongest of women, however, was another story indeed.

She had no memory of her life before she awakened and there was only gloom and filthy snow. The vague suggestions she had were slippery, oily things that constantly slid in and around each other, sometimes twisting and merging into something almost recognizable before they'd dance away again into the black clouds of her mind, mocking her.

For years, Anya had tried hard to forget the fact that she was trying to remember. It was easier to accept that hunger and cold and debilitating want was all there was. But that was over today.

"Pooka! Pooka, where are you?"

She stood for a few heartbeats, squinting into the darkness between the rotting wooden planks barring the doorway into a palace the size of a small town. The pristine courtyard stretching wide and white at her back seemed to be as large as the center of St. Petersburg itself. The world around her was silent as the grave as it held its breath, watching. Waiting.

Her fingers were numb now, but it didn't have much to do with the holes in her wool gloves. Anya couldn't name the catalyst that had sent her down this path. She didn't know what had happened to her. She had no idea what history had been snatched away from her. Up until this day, until this very moment, uncertainty had been in her every heartbeat, pumping in acidic cycles through her veins for as long as she could remember. Anya was a smart girl. She had learned how to survive on her own, and quickly. She also knew with crippling clarity that what she was about to do was the single stupidest act she'd ever committed in her life.

But it didn't matter. In the murkiness of that uncertainty, a chance meeting with a withered old woman at the train depot had made several things painfully clear:

One, the dreams that had haunted her for so long could never tell Anya who she was.

Two, her necklace - which she guarded with her life - was the only link to her "before". It had whispered "Together in Paris" in solid gold during the lonely nights of the orphanage, and that meant France was the key - to who she was, to everything.

Three, a man named Dimitri could get her there.

So here she was, damp and shivering, perched upon the precipice of the miserable existence she knew and ready to leap headfirst into a abyss of dangerous unknowns. She could be in the fishing village near the orphanage now, maybe huddled in front of the cozy fire of a local pub and gnawing on some boney fish bought with her day's wages from the fish factory. But this decision was more important than the hunger clawing at her stomach. The not knowing was eating her alive from the inside, slowly hollowing out her bones. If she stayed in St. Petersburg, there would be nothing left. She'd be an empty shell, a gray ghost of a woman with no hopes or dreams, one of the millions in the city who drift to work every morning in the smog. She would cast no shadow on life at all.

Anya bit at her wind-chapped lips, drawing a bit of blood in determination. She would die before she let that happen. If there was any chance of learning something - anything - about where she came from, it was here, contained within these dilapidated walls.

That was it, then. In the likelihood Dimitri wasn't here - and she had to admit, it was a long shot, anyway - it was still as safe a place as any. There was bound to be something like old sheets or coats unfit for wear that she and her misfit pup could bundle up in to keep an arctic death at bay until morning. And if Dimitri was here and couldn't help her, she would just have to help herself.

It was now or never.


	2. The Restless Dead

"Just so you know, this is all your fault."

Vladimir Vasilovich paused, a heavy forkful of a meat dumpling halfway to his open mouth. He raised one bushy eyebrow at the young man glaring at him from across the room.

"How is this my fault?" he said on a laugh. "I did my job. I got us the theater and the girls showed up. It is not my fault that some of them were nearly as old as the Empress herself." A long-suffering smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Dimitri punched his hands deep into the pockets of his brown trousers and started to pace the room, making a little track from the low table littered with empty liquor bottles, to the ice frosted windows that stretched from ceiling to floor, to the gargantuan fireplace shimmering with heat. It had been a long time since he'd paced. It had been a long time since he felt this trapped and helpless, and it made him angry.

"Yes, it is. What did you do, post flyers at the local asylum? Every one of them was a certifiable nutjob, Vlad."

Vladimir laughed again, polishing off what was left on his plate with more enthusiasm than the greasy food deserved. After taking a long sip of the cheap red wine in his glass, he said, "That is what we need, Dimitri. She has to be just smart enough to teach, but dumb enough not to ask too many questions. How she looks is most important."

Dimitri snorted and let his long legs carry him back to the table. He plopped down in the velvet high-backed chair across from his business partner and friend, crossing his arms over his chest. "It took you two months to nail down that stupid theater. That's two months we could have been doing jobs. With things how they are, I knew you would need help, and that's why I offered to round up the girls to audition - oh, yes, I did," Dimitri interrupted himself when Vlad rolled his eyes. "Anyway," he continued, simmering with irritation, "the girls you got were useless, and now that two months of work have been in vain we're deep in the hole and don't have enough to pay off the patrol this month. So what the hell are we going to do?"

Dimitri's eyes narrowed as he watched Vladimir shrug and practically rumble with a satisfied sigh, monumentally unconcerned as usual. He stroked his thick mass of graying whiskers, his expression thoughtful. "What we always do," was his noncommittal reply.

Yes, Dimitri thought as he looked away, into the bowels of the fireplace. What we always do. Lie, cheat. Steal. Dabble in all seven of the deadly sins. At least he'd graduated from petty thievery, despite having been quite good at it. It would likely still be his occupation of choice if Vladimir hadn't thrust himself into Dimitri's path all those years ago.

With a groan he settled his crossed arms on the edge of the table and rested his forehead in the crook of his elbow. Dimitri could hear Vladimir shift his ample weight in his chair to poke at the embers behind him with the rusted poker. The heat in the room bloomed in a rush of warmth. Dimitri reminded himself again that he would gladly take the sweat trickling down his back over the aching cold of the city outside these walls.

His two front teeth had barely grown in the last time he'd called this place home, when the palace was alive and seething with light and sound, everywhere the glint of gold and the sweet smell of peppermint and pastries. He worked in the kitchen with an older girl of about fifteen and the fat cook who would smack his hand with her wooden spoon when he talked back. Every night he slept in a tiny spartan room in the servants quarters he shared with his mother, before she -

Dimitri's head jerked up as he snapped to attention. This was why he avoided stress like the plague. Visions of the city patrol pounding his skull into a bloody pulp with their heavy boots had already begun to snowball, picking up the debris of memories he had been trying desperately to forget for years. He never spoke to anyone about what had happened to her. He didn't intend to start thinking about it now.

It took years of drowning his demons in stolen vodka and lies to bury them deeply enough to lie undisturbed during his waking hours. But they were not generous. Dimitri learned he could function during the day, but in exchange the ghostly bones of the skeletons he kept so carefully hidden reigned over the kingdom of his nightmares, ruling him from dusk till dawn. He accepted this. It was his punishment for always wanting more than he had.

He shouldn't have saved her. He should have never even dared to look her in the eye before that day. But the youngest daughter of the czar, with her single winking dimple in her left cheek and her devilish grin, had him by the heart the moment she glanced his direction for the first time. They had barely spoken, but she was everything good in his life, even if she was a royal angel and he was the kitchen trash. Dimitri had thought that if he saved her, somehow she'd come back to him. But that was then.

He awoke from that endless, flaming night with a throbbing head that felt the size of a melon and a small jeweled box still grasped in his fingers. Sunlight streamed through the windows across his cheeks, its purity and warmth a sickening contrast to the horrors of blood and screams a few hours before. Crystalline blue eyes had been seared into his mind. He ran from those eyes, swearing he'd never come back to this palace of death.

Yet, here he was.

Vladimir turned back to the sulking Dimitri. He reached over to pat his arm with a meaty hand. "There was one girl who would have been passable."

Annoyed by the interruption of his self-piteous train of thought, Dimitri scowled up at him before he grabbed the wine and took a long drink straight from the bottle. "What?"

"The girl at the theater, the one with the large breasts and brown hair. What was her name?"

Dimitri grimaced more from the memory than the bitterness of the wine. " _Iliana?_  Jesus, Vlad, she had a face like a turtle. No amount of makeup would make the Empress believe her granddaughter grew up to be that ugly."

Chuckling low in his throat, Vladimir retrieved the bottle before easing back. The chair creaked dangerously beneath him. "She was not too ugly for my bed."

Dimitri almost choked on his mouthful of alcohol. "Please, consider my virgin ears. Aren't you a little old for that?"

Vladimir merely shook his head and grinned, lacing his ham-like fingers over his burgeoning belly before replying. "I am older, yes, but not dead. You are still young, Dimitri. As the years go by, you will learn."

Dimitri laughed in spite of himself. "I hope I never have to learn to get past a face like that."

And just like that, the tension between them had eased. Vladimir had always known what to say to put things into perspective. When the moment passed into an easy silence once more, the older man's voice came quietly. "We will find her, my boy."

Dimitri's jaw tightened as his brown eyes assessed a set so much like his own. They were not related, but Vladimir was family. The unlikely pair had taken care of each other in worse times than these. "I have to get out of this city, Vlad."

Vladimir smiled, understanding more than his young friend could ever realize. "I know."

Then there was a sudden noise, a distant thump, like something large had been knocked over in the opposite wing of the palace.

Dimitri frowned. "Did you hear something?"

"No."

With a sigh, Dimitri stood and headed for the door, but not before pausing to assure himself that he had remembered to slip his hunting knife back into his boot. Vagrants could be trouble.


	3. To Dance in Ashes

Heavy wooden boards and rusty nails were no match for raw will.

After the dust settled, a few hesitant steps brought Anya into the thick shadows just beyond the palace doors.

Pale rays of sunlight reflecting off the courtyard's blanket of snow danced across the jagged edges of glass that littered the floor, a graveyard of broken windowpanes. Her feet were silent and quick as she picked her way through them and made her way up the the wide staircase, onto an expansive landing covered with ruined carpet the color of blood.

"Hello?"

Anya called out, cringing as her voice skittered up the faded walls, tangling in the cobwebs that draped nearly every surface like banners of dirty silk.

Silence swallowed her whole. Anya had to strain to hear past the heartbeat pounding at her eardrums, and beyond that there was a vacuum - no wind whistling through cracks, no soft groans of old wood settling in the cold. It was more than a little disquieting, the infinite sound of...nothing. It was as substantial and complete as a solid mass, something to push through or drown in. It made the squish of her boots on the damp carpet sound like the roar of a waterfall.

Anya stilled on the steps, blinking into the darkness, letting her eyes adjust to the change in environment.

Around her, the sprawling palace began to reveal itself in wary increments.

A filthy border of cracked, imported marble slowly emerged from the void, stretching beyond Anya's feet into places filled with secrets. Tattered drapes of heavy crepe or velvet hung limp against the towering windows. Intricate wooden carvings curled in and out of every corner and twined around curvaceous doorways, standing out in crumbling relief against the peeling walls. Everything rested behind a delicate shroud of dust. Through a beam of sunlight Anya could see the particles drifting down from far above her head, settling on her coat like ashes.

It was difficult to ignore that she had already become saturated by the sweet, musky fragrance of decay. The scent had found her when she stepped over the threshold and had settled in her lungs. Every breath she took now tasted of stale smoke and grief.

She moved forward with shaking hands.

After a journey up another grand set of stairs, Anya found herself at the entrance to a large room filled with tarnished treasures. A long table, still dressed in the celebratory linen from a decade ago, had become the final resting place for empty serving platters and drinking goblets, candelabras as tall as young men, gravy boats and fruit stands turned on their sides in repose.

Anya had just tiptoed through the doorway to investigate when she felt a sharp tingle at the base of her spine, something so close to fear that she whipped around to see if she was being followed.

There was nothing. Only a yawning emptiness.

She turned back and tread deeper, drawn closer to the table as the feeling grew and grew until she felt as if she had been shot through with light.

It was these things, these relics that had escaped the black market and the squallor of the city's streets. They were almost... familiar somehow...

Even after Anya swore to herself she wouldn't touch anything, one of those grimy silver platters found itself caught in her grip. She huffed and blew a ragged half moon in the dust. A distorted reflection blinked back at her.

Memory stirred, disturbed by that prickling familiarity. Images swirled in her mind's eye, snapshots advancing and retreating in a swirling kaleidoscope before they condensed into a laughing man with a dark beard...a girl in a dress the color of powdered emeralds...

She blinked again and it was gone.

It didn't return, even when she stared long enough into the warped metal to make her eyes burn. Something like a sob took up residence in her chest.

She replaced the platter and backed away from the table, retreating into the cavernous hallway. Shivers assaulted her as she moved into what appeared to be the grand ballroom.

Nicholas Hall, as it had been known back then, was a universe unto itself where the light streamed freely through frosted windows that reached high as heaven, forming silver pools on a waxed floor scuffed by the dancing shoes of the idle wealthy. The late royal family kept watch from their dull portraits along the walls, eyeing Anya as she descended the steps.

Here, the air felt alive.

This room had been the heart of the palace, pumping music and laughter through the vein-like hallways into every room and chamber. Anya could picture fine ladies in gowns that shimmered under the candlelight dripping down from crystal chandeliers, bejeweled butterflies of every hue that fluttered around handsome men in smart uniforms as they danced and giggled. All around her she felt the fleeting movements of the dead and forgotten.

The residue of joys long past still hung in the air. Even the odor of decomposition here was different - decadent, deep and rich and flowery, like dried roses. When she closed her eyes, she could hear the notes of a soft waltz slinking along the moldings, the vaulted ceilings, easing over her skin like warm satin.

She hadn't realized it, but she was dancing, too.

"Hey! What are you doing in here?!"

Anya jumped like a frightened cat and whirled at source of the male voice. It had come from the upper landing of the staircase that led to where she stood, but whoever had yelled was still painted in shadow.

Instinct screamed and she did what came naturally when fear punted her hammering heart into her throat.

She ran.


	4. Ten Million Little Lies

"Hey!" Dimitri hollered again, gripping the banister as he watched a bedraggled female turn and bolt for the opposite stairs.

"Dammit..."

He easily took the wide steps three or four at a time as he bounded onto the ballroom floor after her. Vladimir waddled down behind him in pursuit.

Dimitri was possessive. He had no problem admitting it. No matter how merciless the memories that gnawed at him, all of the formative moments in his life - the lonely nights, the brief, shattering joy of a royal smile meant only for him - all happened here. This palace was his personal shrine to his past. It was neglected, in ruins. But it was his to wallow in for as long as he saw fit.

It was because of this that he hated for the undesirable elements of the city to seep in, disturbing the calm with their loud rummaging and bodies that smelled of urine and stale sweat. The cold threat of his knife usually took care of an infestation.

When he discovered the girl, however, she had been dancing to a mute melody in the ballroom, her face relaxed and dreamy, completely alone save for the shadows that mimicked her movements on the walls. It would be ridiculous to suggest Dimitri was comfortable with pulling his knife on a woman, let alone one so obviously mentally ill. But one way or another, she had to go.

He'd just very politely escort her out.

As a man who made a living off his silver tongue, his lungs burned by the time he stumbled to a halt at the base of the second staircase, now more closely resembling a carpeted mountain. She was already at the peak and headed for the nearest hallway.

Dimitri had had enough. It would have been easier to just let her leave, but he wanted to make absolutely certain she wouldn't return or reveal his grand hideout to the authorities.

"Hey, stop! Stop! Hold on a minute - hold on!"

She stopped, her back to him.

His words came like arrows once he caught his breath, punishing her for daring to breach these walls. "How did you get in here?"

No response.

Dimitri took several threatening steps toward her, up the stairs. "Did you hear what I said? Who the hell are you?"

This time, he observed through narrowed eyes as she pivoted slowly in her worn out boots. Her chest heaved. Her mouth was slack as her eyes met his, a mix of fear and humiliation stamped onto her features.

Dimitri blinked.

_Holy shit._

The drifter was looking down her nose at him, and from his perspective she appeared to be cheek to cheek with the image of his Anastasia, forever imprisoned inside of her family's portrait.

Anastasia was smiling. This ragged girl was not.

But hell if Dimitri could tell the difference between them.

He stared and stared for what could have been days, analyzing, comparing, searching for holes in the plan that was already knitting itself together inside of his head. A winded Vladimir hustled up to his side.

"Excuse me, child," he wheezed politely at the intruder, ever the gentleman, but Dimitri's sudden grip on his arm brought him up short.

"Vlad, in the name of all that's holy, please tell me you see what I see," he whispered. He couldn't take the chance that desperation was making him hallucinate. His wide eyes still hadn't left her face.

She was glaring at them now. Her shoulders lifted and dropped as if to say, _what the hell are you looking at?_

Vladimir quickly removed his spectacles from their perch atop his balding head and adjusted them on the bridge of his nose. His sharp intake of breath was all the confirmation Dimitri needed.

"My God," Vladimir breathed in awe, his hand clasping Dimitri's shoulder and squeezing. "She is perfect. She is the one."

And she was, more so than Dimitri had ever dared to hope.

She wasn't exactly pretty, not with the deep hollows in her cheeks and hair like russet-colored straw and dingy shadows smudged under her eyes. But that didn't matter at all. Not when those eyes were the color of salvation.

A clear, deep, striking, perfect Romanov blue.

It was as if the God Dimitri felt had been absent his entire life suddenly reached down from on high with a slap on the back for a job well done.

All three heads turned at the displaced sound of barking. A small ball of mottled gray fur shot up the steps between Vladimir and Dimitri, headed straight for the astonishing girl with eyes like jewels. She calmly scooped the pup up into her arms and held him against her heart.

"Are you Dimitri?" She sounded exasperated, if not a bit confused. Her voice was mellow and sweet and had a husky quality that made Dimitri think of smoked honey.

He raised an eyebrow and shrank the wide gap of space between them, moving to stand right in front of her on the landing. "Perhaps. That all depends on whose looking for him."  
  
"My name is Anya," she proclaimed in an official tone, raising her stubborn little chin into the air. "I need travel papers."

Dimitri smirked. That hard glint in her eye told him she was far too coherent to be crazy. Strange, yes, but definitely not crazy.

She leaned toward him, adding in a conspiratorial undertone, "They say you're the man to see..."

Her rambling continued as she whispered something about not being able to tell him who supplied that information, but Dimitri barely heard her. He was too busy trying to fit his new project into Anastasia's gilded mold. This girl's hair wasn't long enough - and much too shabby and dull. He caught sight of her fingernails. They were broken and dirty. Her lips were dry and cracked and - Jesus, was that blood?

"Hey, what - why are you circling me? What, were you a vulture in another life?" Her forehead had wrung itself into a frown. She gave him a black look and put her hands on her hips - at least, where hips should be. It was difficult to tell what was what under the patched sack of a coat she was wearing.

Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest, a slow grin spreading across his cheeks. So she had some personality, too.

"I'm sorry, Enya - "

"It's Anya," she corrected, poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "An - ya."

He held his hands up in surrender, all humble apologies. "Right. _Anya._ Sorry...it's just that you look an awful lot like..." He trailed off and gestured vaguely at Anastasia behind them. Anya looked over her shoulder at the painting, then back at him, eyes wide and blank.

Dimitri glanced back at Vladimir, who had been mute and observant during their exchange. Vladimir winked, urging him on with a silent "work your magic".

"Never mind." Dimitri recovered quickly, smooth as polished marble. "Now, you said something about travel papers?" It didn't really matter, but he wanted to begin with small talk, to take his time. He could already tell he'd need to lay it on thick to make his case. He'd promise to get her anywhere she wanted to go, even if he had to carry her there on his back - whatever it took to convince her to play the lead in the biggest con in history. His life depended on it.

She took a deep breath. "Uh, yes. I need to go to Paris."

Dimitri stared again. "What?"

Sighing, she scratched her dog's ears and looked at him like he was a first-class imbecile. "Paris. You know, France?"

She wanted to go to Paris. As in the City of Light. As in the location of the elderly Dowager Empress, the only living blood relative of a Grand Duchess he'd been planning to package and sell to the old woman for years.

He was instantly suspicious. This had to be some elaborate hoax the universe had contrived for its own amusement. He'd had to claw and sweat and toil through his entire life and now his future gets handed to him on a silver platter?

It couldn't be that easy.

"Let me ask you something - Anya, was it? Is there a last name that goes with that?"

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Anya's eyes shifted away from his. She stiffened and clutched her dog so tightly he let out a tiny yelp. Patting his head apologetically, she said, "I...I don't have one - I mean, I _do_ , but I don't know what it is." She chewed her lip.

"You don't know your parents, child?" Vladimir asked at last, positioning himself on the stairs a few steps below them. The eyes behind his lenses were glassy with sympathy, but Dimitri couldn't tell if the emotion was real or not.

She looked at Vladimir then and answered, her voice like steel. "No. An old lady found me wandering around when I was eight. She took care of me for a while, but when she got sick she took me to St. Olga's. I got out a couple of days ago."

God, St. Olga's. Dimitri winced internally at the mention of the abominable orphanage situated along the edge of the city, where the neighborhood scum collected and people burned their rancid trash in the streets. Rumors caught up with him years ago about the things that went on there, many of them unspeakable. Her eyes were practically glowing with desperation. He knew exactly what that felt like.

He cleared his throat and Anya turned back to him, clearly annoyed with their exchange in general. "And before that, before you were eight - "

"I don't remember, okay?" she snapped, eyes crackling with blue flame. "I know it sounds crazy, and I know you probably think I'm a lunatic, but -" she broke off, swallowed, closed her eyes, opened them again. "Look, it doesn't matter. You don't know me, and I don't know you. Or you," she added, cutting her eyes at Vladimir. He only smiled, apparently impressed. "The only thing you need to know, Dimitri, is that I need to go to Paris. So can you help me or not?"

If the city was all she wanted, Dimitri could give her that easily enough. "Uh, we sure would like to. Oddly enough we're going to Paris ourselves."

He almost laughed out loud when her face lit up like a brand new morning. She would do anything to be on the first train out of St. Petersburg. Perfect.

Almost on cue, Vladimir slipped Dimitri three expired tickets to the Russian Circus. Dimitri was very careful to reveal only the wrong side of the paper to Anya's starving eyes as he said, "I actually have three tickets here, but unfortunately the third one is for her, Anastasia." Her gaze followed his to the painting before she rolled her eyes.

"Anastasia." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"She's dead. Or do you know something I don't?"

Vladimir chuckled, the sound like soft thunder in the silence that swirled around them. "This was never confirmed. No one truly knows what happened to her."

"Hmm." Dimitri crossed his feet at the ankle and carefully arranged his face into a mask of thoughtfulness. "You said you couldn't remember what happened to you, right?"

"So?"

"So, she was around eight years old when she disappeared."

Anya cocked an unkempt eyebrow. "Are you going somewhere with this?"

"You do kind of resemble her, you know. Around the same age, same eyes...same chin..."

"She even has the grandmother's hands," Vladimir supplied.

Anya threw her head back and erupted with laughter. "Are you serious? You think _I'm_ her?"

"Look, all I'm saying is I've seen thousands of girls all over the country and _not one_ of them looks as much like the Grand Duchess as you. I mean, can you honestly prove that you're _not_ Anastasia?" It was taking a lot of effort to remain calm and nonchalant about the whole thing, but Dimitri didn't want to frighten her off. He couldn't give in to the urge to just throw her over his shoulder and be done with it.

"Come with me," Vladimir said kindly, taking her hand and leading her to the portrait of the Dowager Empress near the window. "We are going to reunite the Grand Duchess Anastasia with her grandmother...in Paris."

"You made that up," Anya accused.

"Why is this so hard to believe?" Dimitri pressed as he walked over to join them. "You don't know what happened to you..."

"No one knows what happened to her," Vladimir joined in, waiting for Dimitri to springboard off his comment.

"You're looking for family in Paris," said Dimitri.

"And her only family is in Paris," Vladimir finished, squeezing her hand.

Anya was still incredulous. She looked from one to the other before turning on her heel to go back down the stairs, roughly elbowing Dimitri out of the way. "Both of you are insane. I'll just see myself out, thanks."

Before his brain could process the movement, Dimitri's hand reached out to grab her arm. It was like clutching a warm bone. There couldn't be an ounce of fat on her body with arms like that... "Wait a minute, just hear us out - "

She snatched her arm out of his grasp, her temple throbbing and her lips forming a grim line before she growled, "Okay, one - you don't ever put your hands on me. Ever. Two, do I look like a fucking duchess to you?" She gestured angrily at her ragged coat, which was the color of muddy puddles. "Three, even if I decided to lose my mind and agree with all this, what guarantee do I have that you're not lying?"

The lie was out of his mouth and into the world before Dimitri realized he had spoken.

"There's no sinister ulterior motive here. Just the knowledge that we brought peace to a lonely old woman and a nice vacation in 'Gay Paree' for our trouble. I hear it's lovely this time of year."

Vladimir coughed. "Uh, Dimitri - "

"So you're telling me there's no reward? No money? Nothing?" Anya's eyes bored into Dimitri's. He could feel them burrowing for truth. They wouldn't find it.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm telling you. There might have been years ago, but not now. At least, we haven't heard differently, right Vlad?"

Though his eyebrows had nearly hit his hairline, Vladimir shook his head.

Dimitri watched Anya stroke her little dog, deep in thought. _Chyort voz'mi_ , he cursed mentally. Make a decision. His stomach churned. He could feel the warm prickle of sweat preparing to escape the skin of his upper lip. He hadn't had to work this hard in years.

When it became apparent she was still floundering in indecision, he hit her with his best shot.

"Listen, I have no reason to lie to you. I can't even begin to tell you how bad I want to get out of this godforsaken country. You do, too. I can see it in your eyes. But what I _can_ tell you is with this crazy government, you'll never get out on your own. We're the only ones who can help you within three hundred miles of this city, and if you want a ticket, you gotta have a little faith."

He focused his entire being on projecting the image of an earnest young man with nothing but charity in his heart. When she bit her lip and the shallow impressions in her forehead relaxed, he could tell she was softening. He was so close.

"Anya," he murmured, begging her with chocolate eyes, "we're not going to hurt you. I know you don't have faith in yourself, but we do - I do. All I'm asking is that you have faith in me."

He offered her a wan little smile before he turned away. "Let's go, Vlad."

When the pair were out of earshot, Vladimir took his protege' to task in a fierce whisper. "What are you doing? Why didn't you tell her about our brilliant plan?"

"All she wants to do is go to Paris," Dimitri replied reasonably. "Why give away a third of the reward money?"

Vladimir wagged a finger at him. "I'm telling you, we are walking away too soon..."

"Relax, old man. I've got it all under control. Alright, but - walk a little slower."

Any second and he would have her.

"Dimitri - "

"Wait for it..."

Three...two...one...

"Dimitri! Dimitri, wait!"

Hook, line and sinker.

When they turned back, Anya was flying down the steps to meet them on the ballroom floor while the dog yapped in alarm.

"Did you call me?" Dimitri asked with feigned innocence.

"Okay. I don't remember anything about my past, so there is a possibility - a really remote possibility - that I could be this woman's granddaughter, right?"

Dimitri nodded his agreement. "Mh-hmm. Go on."

"Right, so I go to Paris with you guys, and we meet her."

"That would be correct."

"And if I'm not Anastasia, she would know right away and then it's all just an honest mistake."

"And, if you _are_ the Grand Duchess," Vladimir offered, reeling her in to be gutted, "you'll finally know who you are and have your family back!"

"He's right," Dimitri agreed. He was grinning so hard it was giving him a headache. "Either way, it gets you to Paris." He stuck out his hand.

She hesitated before she allowed their eyes to connect. The hope she must have felt made the dark sapphire shade lighten to that of a cloudless sky at twilight. Dimitri felt odd, like she could see just how black his soul was if she looked long enough.

"What the hell, right?" she said, and his bones cracked in protest when she finally shook his hand to seal their agreement. Jesus Christ, she shook hands like a man. They would definitely have to work on that.

Anya was about to bubble out of her boots with excitement. She bobbed up and down, looking expectantly from Dimitri to Vladimir and back again.

"So, now what?"

Dimitri beamed. In a few weeks, ten million _rubles_ would be in his hands, one for every lie he had ever told.


	5. Waiting Games

"Pooka, we're going Paris!" The dog barked in agreement and wriggled in Anya's arms, mirroring his master's excitement.

"The dog stays," Dimitri said, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. He and his fat friend were leading Anya back across the ballroom toward the main staircase. Anya immediately stopped, planting her feet into a pool of topaz splashed across the floor by the dying sun outside of the windows. She put Pooka down and put her hands on her hips. It was a gesture that was quickly becoming habit when dealing with Dimitri.

"What are you talking about? The dog goes."

Dimitri didn't even bother to slow his pace or turn around. "No, the dog does  _not_ go."

In an instant, Anya went from mildly irritated to flushed with anger. People had been turning their backs on her for as long as she could remember, and she would be damned if she let it happen even one more day. All that was over. Better to nip Dimitri's attitude in the bud here and now.

"Hey," she said as she rushed forward, grabbing a handful of the faded green fabric of his shirt sleeve. He whipped around to face her. His expression suggested shock that she had the audacity to touch him when she had so pointedly informed him that he was never to do the same to her. Frowning at her own logic, she let him go and stepped back.

She took a breath to calm herself. This was going to be a long evening if she couldn't get a grip. "I say the dog goes."

"Well, I say he doesn't, and just in case you've already forgotten, I run this show." Dimitri pulled an imperious face and Anya became exasperated again despite her personal to remain calm and logical.

She couldn't help it. She stomped her foot and crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring Vladimir's chuckling. "And why not, exactly? Are you jealous? Your mommy never gave you one, so now you're taking it out on me?"

Vladimir, apparently enjoying the exchange and loathed to see it end, halfheartedly said to Dimitri, "It's just a small dog. Why not let her bring him along? We can feed him scraps."

Dimitri threw him a look that bordered on filthy. "I'm allergic to dogs."

Vladimir pouted playfully and nudged him in the side but Dimitri only grimaced and waved him away. Sighing, he looked back at Anya and groused, "You're not going to let this go until I give in, are you?"

Anya smirked. "Nope."

"Fine. Bring the stupid dog. But watch him, alright? I'd better not find him chewing up my shoes. That dog doesn't like me."

Anya's grin was downright sugary with her small victory. "He's not the only one, believe me."

Dimitri grunted in response and the trio continued their trek up the staircase and into the hall from which Dimitri and Vladimir had emerged. Anya trailed a bit behind, examining the different flowers in the wallpaper and the people encased in frames even taller than Dimitri was. Pooka darted in and out of nearby shadows, always returning to nip at Anya's ankles, to remind her he was there and that she wasn't alone.

But that sickening, hollow feeling, the one that kept her up at night and brought her to this place, let her know that for now, alone was what she was going to be.

Dimitri and Vladimir spoke only to each other in hushed tones. Every now and again Anya would catch the flicking of their eyes in her direction in the light from the oil lamp Vladimir had picked up from a table outside of the ballroom. It was maddening. Vladimir was...alright, she supposed. He was nice enough and didn't make her feel like socking him in the nose whenever he opened his mouth like Dimitri did. Lanky, smooth-talking Dimitri, however, reminded her of childhood toothaches and lice - irritating, infuriating, but something you had to deal with until you could get what you needed to get rid of them.

Since Anya wasn't in a position to be picky, she'd have to put up with Dimitri's mouth until he got her to Paris. After that, who knew? Maybe she would just give them the slip and take off. She could find a job somewhere. She could learn French. She was capable and smart, and the next time Dimitri tried to suggest otherwise with his condescending tone, she just might have to educate him with her fist. His crooked nose already looked like he'd been popped one too many times, probably for the same reason. Once more wouldn't make much difference.

Tired of being ignored, Anya cleared her throat. "Are we walking out of town here, or what? We've been headed this way forever. Where are we going?"

Dimitri sighed - again - and told her, "To our room, Your Grace. We need to get some sleep before we head out in the morning."

"The morning?" Anya repeated, frowning hard. What were they waiting for? "I thought we were leaving now."

"The train depot is closed now. You're not going anywhere tonight, unless you'd like to walk to Paris on your own. Which you're more than welcome to do, by the way."

They finally stopped in front of one of the hundreds of doors that lined both sides of the hall, all of them gilded and a little moldy. This one made a sticky smacking sound when Dimitri opened it and let Vladimir waddle past him inside.

Anya was about to follow suit when Dimitri stopped her and leaned on the door frame. He blinked at her from beneath the hair that she noticed had fallen into his eyes again before he brushed it aside with an impatient hand. He really should cut it instead of batting at it all the time, Anya thought.

When he didn't speak, she widened her eyes at him.  _"What?"_

"You don't have to stay in here with us if you don't want," he said, sounding uneasy, his eyes darting around the space surrounding Anya's head. "You don't know us, like you stated before, and I don't want to make you...uncomfortable. We can give you your own room, I mean. If you like."

Anya would have laughed in his face if he hadn't seemed so sincere. The small pocket knife she kept in her coat gave her enough confidence to say, "As long I don't have to sleep in your bed to get a train ticket, we're fine."

Dimitri laughed. It was genuine and clear, and the way his face lit up startled Anya somewhat. He looked like a totally different person. A nice person.

His smile faded quickly under Anya's stare, and after a moment he stepped aside to let she and Pooka in before he closed the door behind them.

A fire was roaring and the room was uncomfortably warm, but Anya wasn't about to take off her coat. This room was almost identical to the one with the silver platter, except it didn't have as many windows and didn't reek so much of dust. Vladimir left them with a nod to Dimitri and a kiss for the back of Anya's hand before he ambled off to his bed beyond the columns that divided the room in half.

"Anya."

Anya turned away from fingering the curves of the fireplace, the biggest she had ever seen.

"There's...ah, some food still here if you want some. It's not much, but it'll get you by until morning."

Her eyes found the half-eaten plate of pastry on the table off the Dimitri's side. She tried to smile.

"Um...I'm okay. Thanks, though."

"Suit yourself," Dimitri replied, shrugging a little. "You can take the chaise lounge - "

"The what?" Anya asked, confused. She looked around the room for the fifth time. The only thing she saw was a long blue couch.

"The couch...over there by the fire," Dimitri said with a grimace, rubbing his forehead. "Jesus."

"Oh." Anya was far too worked up now over the prospect of leaving the country to take offense, so she strode over to what she'd learned was the chaise and sat stiffly in the middle, close to the edge.

For a long time, the only sound between the two of them was the crackling of the fire and Dimitri's uncomfortable cough.

"Well...it's almost nine now. We'll be leaving around four in the morning, so try to get some rest. We have a very long journey ahead of us."

"I'll be ready," Anya told him, her eyes never leaving the tongues of flame warring with each other behind the fire screen.

He didn't say anything further, and she felt more than heard him disappear somewhere behind her.

She beckoned Pooka with a soft whistle and he hopped up onto her lap, settling in with a yawn. He was asleep almost immediately.

Any other time, Anya might have been inclined to join him, but not tonight. The buzzing of her nerves and the tightness of every muscle would keep the specter of sleep away for now, and that was just fine. She didn't want to risk waking to find all of this a dream, even if a few of the characters in it - one in particular - were miniature nightmares.


	6. Do svidaniya

A fully grown Anastasia starred in Dimitri's nightmares that night.

She was perched on the edge of a golden throne, her hands folded carefully in her lap as she smirked down at him kneeling at her feet. The silk of her gown slowly pooled around his knees like indigo ink and he stared into its folds because he couldn't look at her.

"I love you," he whispered, the words all but strangling him. She was silent until he dared to meet her eyes. Then she threw her head back and laughed at him.

Dimitri woke with a start, his upper lip dotted with sweat.

"Hey."

He rolled over and onto Anya's foot. She was standing over him with her arms crossed. "Wake up. I couldn't find a clock, but I think the sun is about to come up."

Dimitri stared up at her, frowning hard enough to close his eyes again, unable to respond. Anya's uncanny likeness to the Grand Duchess in his mind had him trapped in the remnants of his horrible dream. He could still hear Anastasia's laughter echoing cruelly in his ears.

One of Anya's hands pulled free a thin gold chain from the recesses of her coat. She began fiddling with its pendant, gripping it and releasing it to thump lightly against her chest. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

With a long sigh, Dimitri relaxed. Thankfully, Anya's usual genteel manner was enough to remind him that she originated in the streets, not the Peterhof Palace.

"Hello?" Anya leaned down and waved a hand at Dimitri's face when he only sat up and glanced around the room, disoriented. "What is your problem? You look like you just sat on the wrong end of a broom."

Dimitri cleared his throat and glared at his watch. "It's 3:30am. Would it have killed you to let me sleep a few more minutes?"

Anya cocked her head a little. "Maybe." She bounced to her feet. "I couldn't wait anymore. And I was tired of listening to you snore."

"I don't snore." Dimitri eased his body off the floor, groaning all the way. He had never been a morning person.

While he stretched, he watched Anya go back into the sitting area and sit down on the arm of the chaise. The fire was nothing but dead ashes now, and so it would stay. If things panned out the way he'd planned, Dimitri wouldn't have to light that fireplace ever again.

He walked over to a nearby table where a cracked porcelain bowl and matching water pitcher were kept. After dumping half of the water into the bowl and splashing his face a few times, he asked, "What happened to Vladimir? Did you run him off?"

He looked over his shoulder just in time to catch Anya's sour look. "I think I woke him up an hour ago with my pacing...but he was sweet enough to take Pooka out to do his business." She bit her bottom lip and narrowed her eyes at him, as if she were searching for something. "Why can't you be more like him?"

Dimitri looked away from her. "Because I'm not old and gullible yet."

"Who are you calling old?" Vladimir asked as he strolled in with Pooka in his arms, then winked at Anya.

She smiled at him and held her arms out to accept the wriggling ball of fur. "Could you tell your grumpy friend to hurry up?" She made a face and pressed her nose to Pooka's. "We don't want to miss our train, do we, Pooka?" Pooka whimpered and licked at her chin.

"We should hurry, my boy," Vladimir agreed, stamping the last remnants of slush off of his boots before he crossed between the two of them to their sleeping area. He returned dragging a leather suitcase the color of strong coffee. It was almost as large as he was.

Dimitri's suitcase was a quite a bit smaller and an oily black. If a con required it, it also doubled as a briefcase for a government official or lawyer or whoever he was pretending to be. While drying his face off on his sleeve, he spotted it nestled in the blankets of his sleeping pallet. In his line of work, one never knew when one would have to run for one's life, so he kept all of his clothes and books carefully locked inside at all times.

With a weary sigh, he walked over and picked it up, running a hand over the smooth leather and the silver clasps, the metal cold after the death of the fire. His entire life could be contained within a box no bigger than his pillow and no deeper than a chamber pot. He winced and tried not to dwell on how depressing that was.

"I have the travel papers in my coat," Vladimir said in his ear, shaking him from his daze. Dimitri looked past him at Anya walking back and forth in front of the fireplace, playing with Pooka's paws.

"Are you sure they're right this time? I heard they changed the format again - "

"Dimitri, don't worry. Let's just get to the train station before our girl paces a hole in the floor."

"Fine."

As Vladimir walked toward the door, Dimitri shook his head at himself. The handle of the suitcase was beginning to slide against his sweaty palm. Was he actually nervous? He never would have believed the thought of leaving the palace would make him more anxious than the dismal prospect of staying.

His eyes scanned the room one last time as he drew on his coat, taking in every speck of dust, the tarnish on the silver candelabras, the cracks in the painted plaster ceiling. All so familiar, all his. He felt like he was abandoning his family. With a strange ache in his chest, he took a deep breath and sighed his last goodbye.

He focused his attention again on Anya, now paused in the middle of the room, completely exasperated and staring at him in that unnerving way of hers. She huffed. "Are you ready now?"

Dimitri smiled to cover the knot in his gut. This was it, his last chance. Failure was not an option now. Her eyes had better buy him his freedom or he just might have to do it with a gun in his mouth.

Vladimir was already in the hallway. Dimitri bowed low in a display of mock humility and held the door open for Anya. "After you, Your Highness." He chuckled when she stuck her nose in the air and sauntered past him. "Now, if you would, humble servant," she quipped when she turned to watch him close the door, "move your ass."

And move they did. They were out of the courtyard and on the street in time to catch the mouthwatering scent of the neighborhood bakeries pulling the morning's first loaves from the oven, before it mixed with the noxious, acrid scent of the awakening city.

Dimitri could have easily led their little group down the main thoroughfare, across the canal and straight to the station, but nostalgia pulled him down the little streets and back alleys he remembered from his youth. Life had been cruel to him, but there were still some fond memories lurking in the tiny coffee shop where he made his first honest dollar, or the ramshackle house where the first girl he had ever made love to had lived. He knew every pothole and condemned building like they were pieces of himself, and he was perfectly content to ignore Anya's complaining as he revisited them one last time.

The sun was just beginning to ease into the leaden sky when they came to the busy intersection in front of the train station.

Anya was still whining. "Dimitri, I'm going to die if we don't eat soon..."

Dimitri rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, pulling her into a run across the street. She snatched it away from him as soon as they stopped to allow Vladimir time to catch his breath.

Anya looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

"For the hundredth time, Anya, we are not stopping. You can feed your face when we get on the train."

She sighed and blew her bangs out of her eyes before she turned her back on him.

When Vladimir pointed to their platform near the other end of the terminal, they began to push their way inside through the crush of other people vying for escape from the city. The conductor hollered the last call just as Vladimir climbed behind Dimitri and Anya into the second to last car. Dimitri had to walk sideways down the hallway, barely wide enough for Vladimir to get through without crushing passersby. Dimitri found an empty compartment and slid the door open for his companions.

"Finally!" Anya made a beeline for the window and plopped down on one of the long, pew-like benches. "Now we can eat."

"Jesus Christ!" Dimitri exclaimed through clenched teeth, setting down his suitcase before turning on Anya. "Are you five years old? You can wait until the train gets moving. Then we'll all go to the dining car together. Just...relax."

"I can't relax, alright? Too jumpy. I need to do...something. Like eat. I haven't done that in a few days." She was flicking the pendant of her chain with her and jiggling one leg like she had to use the toilet.

"I think you didn't get enough sleep," Dimitri told her. The dark circles under her eyes were starting to resemble bruises. They made the blue of her irises that much more striking.

"I didn't sleep at all," she told him. "I couldn't."

Lucky you, Dimitri thought, and let the subject drop.

Five minutes later, the train jerked and began moving sluggishly down the track. Dimitri wiped the fog off the window and peered past the ice clinging to the glass. It was like looking at a photograph of everything he knew, and as the train picked up speed, the image began to blur until he could see nothing but the whiteness of early spring snow. A clean slate.


	7. Royalty 101

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> svoloch = bastard or asshole

Anya groaned out loud, nearly intoxicated as the pickled fish, potatoes and other buttery, flaky delights crowded her belly to the brink.

The hunger had been there for so long, lingering like an itch she could never properly scratch no matter how many scraps she could spirit away into her pockets. Food - filling, savory, delicious food - was a luxury she'd never been able to partake of until now. And she was overwhelmed.

Grinning and more than a little drowsy, she slumped deeper into the cushions of her curvy dining chair with a sigh, sucking the last bit of gravy from her fingertips. She'd just caught a droplet that was making its way down her wrist with a swipe of her tongue when she looked up and caught Dimitri's eyes. Again.

A belch erupted from her chest without warning, loud enough for the couple dressed in furs and diamonds seated at the table nearby to glance over, their prim features pinched in disgust.

Dimitri and Vladimir gaped at her in disbelief, but it was Dimitri who hissed, "For the love of God, Anya."

"What?" Anya laughed. "I didn't mean to; it just happened."

He looked over his shoulder at their fellow dining car patrons still watching their exchange and threw them a tight smile. His eyes moved over the two full plates of food she'd finished mere minutes ago, then flashed at her.

"Let me ask you a question," he said, leaning forward, his voice low and cold. "Where are you going?"

This time Anya trapped the belch behind her lips and swallowed it down before answering him. "What are you talking about?"

Vladimir laced his fingers behind his head and settled in with a chuckle.

"It's a simple question."

"To Paris, I guess," Anya answered, her shoulders lifting in a shrug as she nibbled on a piece of parsley.

"Right." The chandelier swinging above their heads threw flecks of light over the little round table, some gathering on Dimitri's steepled hands or disappearing into the spaces between his fingers. "And who are you going to see?"

Anya pursed her lips and tried to look coy. "The Queen of England?"

"Don't be cute," Dimitri warned, his hands condensing into balled fists on either side of his plate.

"Okay, okay. The other old woman."

"Exactly."

"What 'exactly' is your point? Other than being a  _svoloch'_ , I mean." Anya felt so satisfied she was giddy, giggling through her wince when her stomach heaved. She'd eaten far too much, and too quickly. Still, the pie on the tray that was passing by in the hands of one of the servers made her mouth water all over again...

"My point is that you can't dine with the Dowager like you did just now," Dimitri said, scolding her. "Do you see our plates?" Only half listening, Anya looked back at him as he gestured at the still artfully plated dishes on his side of the table, the trim gleaming gold in the light. Hers, on the other hand, looked like a murder scene. "We've barely eaten half, and we're two grown men. You wolfed down your first of  _two_  plates in five minutes flat."

"I'm thinking I shouldn't have done that," Anya said under her breath. A riot of cramps flared up in her stomach and made her shift in her seat for a more comfortable position.

"Actually, there are a lot of things you shouldn't be doing. Like having your elbows on the table, or sitting with your feet in your chair. Or belching like a drunk. Or licking your hands clean like a damn cat."

Shooting daggers at him, Anya slid her feet back to the carpet before giving her middle finger a long, slow lick up the side. "So I shouldn't be doing that, right?" she taunted. "Is that what you're saying?"

Dimitri looked uncomfortable for a split second before he laughed without any humor at all.

"I've never seen a girl with more class."

"Oh, Dimitri." Anya crossed her arms on the table and propped her chin on her forearm. Flashing him a smile more acidic than the lemon slice in her glass of water, she said, "Do you ever get dizzy way up there on your high horse?"

"Not usually. But I should probably watch my horse, shouldn't I? If I'm not careful, you just might  _eat_  it."

Anya sat back on a gasp of outrage and straightened her spine as a disgusting, smug smile spread across Dimitri's face. She hadn't expected such a barbed retort. Honestly, she couldn't understand why he was so irritable in the first place, but if he was in no mood for shenanigans, neither was she.

"If you want to do this right, you need our help," Dimitri continued, studying the silver geometric pattern of the tablecloth. He turned a fork over and over in his hand.

"I didn't ask for your help," Anya snapped. Sudden embarrassment fired heat into in her cheeks, infuriating her even more. "Not with that."

"You did the minute you got on this train." He was cool, barely ruffled except for the smirk tugging at his mouth, and that only made her want to lunge across the table at him that much more.

When he flipped his eyes up to look at her they stared at each other, eyes on fire, neither of them blinking as they engaged in a battle of wills.

Somewhere in the haze of her stomach pains and rage, Anya realized this was the first time she had actually looked at Dimitri and saw the man, not just the entity with some vague features that had her ticket to Paris in his pocket. There were clean lines to his face, and the skin was perfectly smooth except for a silvery scar above his right eyebrow and the hitch in the bridge of his nose she noticed in passing once before. She supposed the strength of his jaw and symmetry of his features might make him handsome to some women - but certainly not her. His brows were heavy, the same rusty brown as the hair that continually flopped into his face. They seemed to droop under their own weight over eyes that were the color of dead leaves. It was fitting. He didn't have to try very hard to look like he was brooding, which Anya had quickly surmised was his general state of being.

He put the fork down and his mouth relaxed, revealing the curvature of his lips. They were full and turned down slightly at the corners, straddling the line between sensual and menacing. An odd sensation took hold of Anya, a sort of pressure, like her lungs were being squeezed by some unseen hand. This time, it was she who looked away.

She heaved a theatrical sigh and threw her hands up. "Fine, Dimitri. Teach away. It's not like I have anything better to do at the moment."

An uneasy silence reigned for a long moment. Anya chewed her lip and glared at the white flecks in her fingernails. Vladimir pinched off another piece of his roll and chewed thoughtfully, watching Anya and Dimitri in silence, as usual.

"We do this my way," Dimitri finally said softly, his eyes bordering on apologetic, but not quite.

Seething, Anya crossed her arms over her chest. "It's not like I have much of a choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice." Dimitri had picked up the fork again, this time spinning it slowly on one of its tines.

"Well, I wish you would choose right this second to either shut your mouth or get on with it."

Something passed over his face and he seemed to relax his battle stance. "Fair enough."

Vladimir beckoned a uniformed waitress and as she came near, Anya noticed the corner of a wad of bills peeking out of his fist. The girl leaned down a bit and acknowledged him. Vladimir whispered something in her ear that made her blush and glance around nervously before he slipped the money into her hand. He looked at her backside appreciatively as she retreated before he turned to Anya. "The young lady is going to give us some privacy. Shall we begin?"

Dimitri acknowledged him with a nod, never taking his eyes away from Anya. Then he was all business. "First things first - sit up. And let me see how you were holding your fork? No, no...it's not a spear. Flip it over. No, left hand. Now, take your knife in your right. Yes, like that. That's how a Grand Duchess cuts her meat."

Anya bit her tongue and followed their instructions with clenched teeth. Dimitri and Vladimir took turns rambling on and on about everything, from what to do with her napkin to which utensils were used for which course of a meal. It went on like that for the next hour, long past Anya's usual threshold for sitting still. But she forced quiet down into her body, even succumbing to Vladimir's charm and becoming his puppet as he placed her hands wherever they needed to be in the course of the lesson. As long as he was in charge of her limbs, she couldn't stab Dimitri in the eye with that fork and get them booted off the train.

The staff, having previously cleared the room of other diners, had just returned to begin to setting up for the next meal when Anya shot out of her chair in the middle of one of Dimitri's long-winded explanations.

Dimitri froze with the dessert fork he had been demonstrating with still in his hand. "Wait a minute, you haven't -

Anya was already turning away from the table, panic making her movements uncoordinated and jerky. Her meal was staging a revolt, rising up in violence as she scrambled for the nearest open receptacle.

She didn't make it.


	8. A Color Complex: Part 1

Dimitri let Vladimir clean Anya up. He couldn't handle it, not with the way he felt right now.

He snapped the collar of his coat up around his chin and shoved his way through the passage alongside the dining room, alone against the current of passengers headed for their respective compartments. No one else was crazy enough to go outside.

The nostalgia that had floated Dimitri from the palace to the train station had disappeared with the last glimpse of St. Petersburg's outskirts, immediately replaced by a rage that throbbed dully against the inside of his skin. There had been much in his life to be angry about, to be sure, but he had been born with an ability to channel the abundance of negative energy into creative and unsavory ways to make money. That's what he did, who he was, how he coped with life. But something happened when all he'd ever known disappeared from view and the end of all things there landed like a lead weight on his shoulders.

That rage, no longer checked by familiarity's cocoon, began to blossom inside him like a truly hideous rose.

He slammed open the metal door to the rear of the train, barely hopping out of the way in time when the wind slammed it closed in kind. The air whirled around his body, wild and frosty, whisking clouds of his breath away from his lips and strands of hair into his eyes. He had hoped that all of that freezing chaos would wick away some measure of the heat that was boiling his blood.

But at the moment he was thinking of Anya, so his hopes were completely dashed for now.

At the time, he thought he had his eyes squeezed shut, but since he was able to replay the scene in his head with perfect clarity, he realized he had indeed watched in horror as she retched all over the silverware and wine glasses of the table next to theirs. She'd gone on and on until there was nothing left but air and tears dripped from the corners of her eyes. Humiliation rendered him immobile when she collapsed knee-first into a puddle of her own loose vomit on the carpet. Yet moments later he was still able to drop the dessert fork on the table and walk away.

As he wrapped his fingers around the rail and the iciness of the metal bit deep into his naked palms, he wondered if perhaps his feelings were misdirected. His anger - the majority of it, anyway - wasn't at Anya. Not exactly. She was his way out, but at the same time, she was his life's greatest challenge - and he was so far failing at it miserably.

She ate like a child, shoveling food into her mouth by the handful and only using her utensils as an afterthought. She picked her teeth with her ragged fingernails. She talked loudly. She scratched when she thought no one was looking, which was exactly when everyone was.

Dimitri crossed his arms on the rail and rested his cheek on his wrist, groaning into his coat sleeve. She was just... so fucking common.

Had he bitten off more than he could chew this time? Might he have overestimated his ability to get the job done? Maybe he could jump off this train right now and head back, explaining when the soldiers found him that he'd pay them double since he'd come up short this time around. Dimitri grimaced as he lifted his head, rubbing his chest where he imagined a bullet would pierce him. They'd only laugh right before they killed him.

He'd told Anya - God, just the thought of her name made him want to strangle something - that you always had a choice. He liked to think his choices in life had always been easier than most: steal or starve to death, cheat or be beaten, lie or be shot.

Life was much easier in black and white. Anya was a decision, a means to an end - he could either mold her into something useful or go home to die as poor as the day he was born.

For Dimitri, the answer was as clear as the misshapen icicles fringing the awning of the train. He reached up and snapped one off, then broke it in half and watched it melt until his hand felt as numb as he was inside.

He was feeling much calmer by the time he slid the door of their compartment closed behind him.

Vladimir looked up at him with furrowed brows. "Where did you go?"

"I needed some air." Dimitri started to move forward but stopped when his knee hit Vladimir's suitcase, the corner of which was blocking his path. He shouldered the load and hoisted it with a grunt over his head, onto the shelf high above the seat.

"Oh, I'm just fine, Dimitri," came Anya's voice to his ear, hoarse and steely with sarcasm. "I puke my guts up all the time. Thanks so much for your concern."

He didn't respond at first, instead clearing his throat and moving to sit down across from her, but a growl and a nip at his backside stopped him in his tracks. Her dog was curled into the corner of the seat, baring his tiny puppy teeth at the prospect of being sat upon.

Dimitri rolled his eyes. "I see the mutt gets the window seat."

He changed direction and sat down next to Anya instead, far enough away that he could duck in time if she returned to projectile vomiting.

Clay, he thought as he turned to regard her. You can't mold clay properly if you're rough with it.

"Are you all right?" He didn't really care, but he could at least sound like he was concerned. Besides, she was of no use to him half-dead.

Anya seemed to sense his indifference. "Too little, too late, Dimitri." She, too, was curled up in the corner, her head propped against the window and her face as pale as a bleached sheet. She was scowling at her necklace as she slid the pendant back and forth on its chain.

Sighing, Dimitri looked forward again. His thoughts were like insects in his head, darting around aimlessly, buzzing and stinging.

He could teach her the royal ways without her knowing, couldn't he? He and Vlad could be subtle. She clearly didn't respond well to formal lessons. God, she was pale. He had precious little time to turn her into Anastasia. He had to make it work.

That one thought landed and bit down hard: make it work.

"At least stop fiddling with that thing," he offered, trying to smile. "And sit up straight. Remember, you're a Grand Duchess. Despite your upset stomach."

Anya only pulled her knees even closer to her chest and ducked deeper into her coat, which was draped over her like a blanket. Her smile was humorless when she turned to him. "You just don't quit, do you? How do you know what Grand Duchesses do or don't do, anyway?"

He crossed his legs and inclined his head at her, grinning for real this time. She had no idea. "I make it my business to know."

The window drew her eyes away and left him staring at the back of her head. "Well, that's reassuring."

The rage went  _thump, thump_ along with his heart, but Dimitri kept it in check with a deep breath.

"Look, Anya, I'm just trying to help, all right?"

"Dimitri," Anya began, peering at him over her shoulder, her expression becoming wistful as she wrapped her necklace around her finger, "do you really think I'm royalty?"

"You know I do."

She suddenly pinned him with a glare. "Then stop bossing me around."

Exasperated, Dimitri collapsed back against the seat to the sound of Vladimir chuckling.

With his teeth flashing beneath his thick beard, he looked up from making the final flourishes on their traveling papers long enough to tell Dimitri, "She certainly has a mind of her own."

Dimitri pulled the lapels of his coat closer together against the draft sneaking in from one of the window's seams. Anya was formidable, he had to admit. Her insides had literally been on display and here she sat, sassy as ever. Dimitri tried hard to fight the smile struggling to emerge.

"Yeah, I hate that in a woman." He caught her sticking her tongue out at him out of the corner of his eye.


	9. A Color Complex: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick Russian vocabulary lesson:  
> spasiba = thank you; zhopa = asshole; Nana = Daddy; sraka = ass.

"Anya, I can take Pooka out now, if you'd like."

Anya nodded and smiled sweetly at Vladimir as he scooped up the dog, reaching out to place her hand on his arm with a quiet  _"spasiba"_. He winked and chucked her under the chin before he stepped out.

"What was that all about?" Dimitri asked, astounded by the easy sweetness of their exchange. Vladimir had looked at her like his own child. He'd never seen that particular sparkle in his comrade's eyes before, and it was unsettling.

The calm drained out of Anya's face and then she was glaring at him again.

"What was what?"

Dimitri made a vague gesture in the space between them and the door. "That. With Vlad. You two act like you're old friends."

"He's nice," she said simply.

"Nice." Dimitri harrumphed. "Well, for future reference, I do business. I don't do nice."

She snorted. "Obviously." Glancing from his face back to her necklace, she explained, "The man cleaned me up like a little girl and gave me a clean shirt to wear while he had one of the women in the back clean my dress." Her lips turned up in a little smile. "I think I even got some on his shoes and he didn't say anything." She slipped the pendant into her mouth and nibbled on it, thinking. "He's nice the same way you're a  _zhopa_ : it's just who you are."

Dimitri winced at a sharp pain in both of his hands. He looked down at his white knuckles in alarm, then realized he was digging his fingernails into the flesh of his palms. He sighed. Clay, he reminded himself.

"What was the last thing you ate?"

She rolled her eyes. "I think you saw it come and go."

"Before this morning." He held her gaze. "Obviously," he added, because he couldn't help sneering.

Anya bit her lip and squinted up at the swirls in the plastered ceiling. "I don't know. A piece of bread I sto - ah, bought, I think. And some water out of somebody's well."

"How long ago?"

"Three days." Her body tensed and she shifted away from him. "Before today, I don't think I can even remember eating real food," she murmured.

Dimitri swallowed hard. With his body accustomed to surviving on scraps, he'd vomited the first time Vladimir had fed him a real meal, too. He didn't know why he didn't try to save Anya from the same fate. Perhaps he was too busy resenting the fact that she was his only hope, and yet she was making him work so hard.

"Soup," he told her.

She turned back with a frown. "What?"

"Your body isn't used to such rich food, so it rejected it. You get soup for the next few meals, until you can handle more."

A smile seemed to sneak up on her, but she looked down at her shoes instead of offering it to him. It was gone as if it never was when her eyes returned to his. All that blue was arresting against her ghost-like complexion, like two huge sapphires side by side in the snow. "Well, thank you,  _Nana_."

He surprised himself by almost laughing at her tart remark, but noticed that the moment seemed to have softened around the edges. He moved to sit across from her on the opposite seat. Leaning over to balance his elbows on his knees, he said, "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

"Well, I think we did, too."

"Okay."

Anya blew gently on the window, then wrote something with her finger in the fog her breath created on the cold glass. "But I appreciate your apology," she said, without looking at him.

Dimitri sat back and raised an eyebrow. Apologizing he was not. "Wait - who said anything about an apology? I was just saying that we - "

"Look, just don't talk anymore, okay? It's only gonna upset me."

Dimitri's other eyebrow joined the one already at his hairline. With that lordly look on her face, he could almost picture her on some fetid throne, as queen of all slums. "Fine, I'll be quiet. I'll be quiet if you will."

"Alright, I'll be quiet." She made a show of pressing her lips together.

Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine."

"Fine," she said again, unfurling her legs and plunking her feet down on the seat next to his thigh. Little flakes of mud landed on the corner of his coat.

With an exaggerated motion, he brushed them off. "Fine."

"Fine." She was a picture of nonchalance.

There was silence for a handful of heartbeats when Anya brushed her hair out of her eyes and said, "Do you think you're gonna miss it?"

"Miss what, your talking?" Dimitri shot back.

" _No,_ " Anya chided. She gestured vaguely at the window. "Russia."

That question he had not expected.

He looked down at his hands and began lazily pushing back his cuticles with his thumbnail. "Nope." There was nothing to go back to.

"But it was your home," she was saying. She'd put her feet back on the floor and now leaned forward, staring at him with renewed interest, like he'd suddenly sprouted from the upholstery.

He was not about to discuss himself with her. The less she knew, the better. Especially for him. "It was a place I once lived. End of story."

Anya was unphased. Dimitri noticed the flush returning to her cheeks, making her look less like a living corpse. "Then you must plan on making Paris your true home." She sat completely still on the edge of the seat, waiting for some affirmation, as if what she had just reasoned made perfect sense.

Dimitri threw his hands up, annoyed and confused by the turn in their conversation. "What is it with you and 'homes'?" he said, taking a turn at propping his legs in the seat across from him.

She looked indignant when she rose and tried to walk out, and he gave her a satisfied smile when she kept running into his legs. "It's something every normal person wants, Dimitri. But I'm guessing you don't do normal like you don't do nice - move your goddamn legs!" she flared.

Dimitri, deciding to annoy her further by refusing to cower, merely yawned. "Well, seeing as we've established I'm neither normal nor nice, it looks like you'll be going around, don't you think?"

Anya roared in frustration as she got up on the seat and walked on the cushions to the other side of Dimitri's legs before turning to point a finger at his face. "Honestly, I would really like to put your head" - she moved her finger slowly so his eyes would follow - "through that window."

Refusing to back down, Dimitri stood up as well and pointed at her backside. "Then your _sraka_  won't be going to Paris, will it?"

Anya crossed her arms over her chest, looking much like a bull on the edge of raging. "Is that right? Well, I - you...me and my  __sraka__ should have gone to the fishing village anyway!"

"Well, me and mine wish you would have!"

"What in God's name is going on in here?" Vladimir asked as came in, the dog whining and licking at his ear. "I can hear the both of you on the other side of the train - "

"Oh, thank goodness it's you," Anya cried, still wielding that blasted finger of hers. "Just - please, remove him from my sight!"

"Dimitri," Vladimir laughed, "what have you done to her?"

" _Me?_ " Feeling like a defendant on trial did nothing but fan Dimitri's flames. "Why are you taking her side? You weren't even here! It's her!"

"Ha!" Anya gave him the finger just before she stormed out, banging the door shut so hard it rattled inside its rail.

Dimitri whipped around, his heart racing, that same insistent rage rapping at his temples. Just get her to Paris and get the money, then you can kill her, he thought.

When he turned back around, Vladimir was doubled over, his laughter bouncing off the wood panels that enclosed them.

Dimitri was not amused. "What the hell are you laughing at? How are we supposed to deal with" - he pointed in the direction Anya left with disgust -  _"that?_ "

"Oh, Dimitri," Vladimir sighed as he straightened, tucking Anya's stupid dog more securely under his arm. "Such unspoken attraction..."

" _Attraction?_ " Dimitri repeated, aghast. "To that skinny little brat? Have you lost your mind?"

"Perhaps I was mistaken," Vladimir said to the mutt, then winked at Dimitri.

Instead of hitting his friend over the head with a suitcase like he wanted to, Dimitri reached past the dog and into the chest pocket inside Vladimir's coat, fishing out the prized gold flask Vladimir always kept on his person. Dimitri held it up for him to see. "Just for that, you're not getting this back," he proclaimed before brushing past Vladimir's belly and out the door himself, making for the back of the train again. Vladimir's laughter when their failsafe plan was already coming apart at the seams was more than he could bear at the moment. Attraction? That was absolutely ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing he'd heard in his entire life, in fact.

An image of Anya's eyes flashed through his mind just then, darkened to navy blue flame when she was angry.

It really was ridiculous.

Jesus, he needed a drink.


	10. Hell in the Meantime

"Godammit." Anya cursed under her breath, violently pacing the hallway of the lavatory in the back of their train car. She was so mad at Dimitri she was actually sweating, and if whoever was taking forever on the toilet didn't emerge soon she was going to kick down the door.

After her second trip around the entire train, she'd successfully pushed all thoughts of Dimitri out of her mind and had regained some semblance of calm. She could feel her anger begin to ratchet down during the fourth revolution - that is, until she'd stumbled into one of the other passenger cars. A man seated in the front row had glanced up at her, his muddy brown eyes so similar to Dimitri's that they flooded her mind with images of his smug face and set her off again.

"Hey! If you fell in you should say something!" She started banging on the door with the side of her fist, hard enough to bruise the flesh. Anya got a small amount of relief from her pent-up frustration in the form of pain, but it still wasn't enough. Not nearly as satisfying as giving Dimitri a black eye would be.

The door swung open and Anya nearly fell into the hefty woman who filled up the narrow doorway.

Clearly outraged, the older woman planted her hands on ample hips concealed by lush fur coat and huffed, "I beg your pardon!" She pursed her thin lips as she looked down her nose at Anya, a difficult task as Anya was at least three inches taller.

Anya grunted in frustration when the woman made no effort to step aside, evidently waiting for an apology that Anya had no intention of supplying. She was not in the mood for this. Besides, she'd seen this upper crust society type breeze into the orphanage with the false hope of family often enough. They'd glance over Anya and her comrades, then turn up their noses in disgust at the children's wretchedness before they turned away, leaving disappointment in their wake.

"You can beg all you want as long as you get out of my way," Anya snapped, already straining to push past the woman's bulk to get into lavatory. The woman grudgingly let her by before Anya slammed the door on her and turned the lock.

She stopped and closed her eyes, her hand still clutching the handle, and exhaled in relief.

_Finally._

It had been a long time now since she had been able to completely shut out the world. The chaos on the other side of the door had become louder than her own thoughts, so much so that the silence that enveloped her now felt like an oasis.

Slowly, she turned and relaxed against the door, allowing the train to gently rock her body to the rhythm of its grinding gears. She took a deep breath, instantly regretting it when the tang of dried urine in the air settled on the back of her tongue and made her cough.

Trouble had followed her like a shadow as a child at the orphanage. Anya, who'd never felt like she belonged, spent most of her time making mischief to combat the feelings of isolation. This made her very popular with the other children and an enemy of the order-craving Comrade Phlegmenkoff.

Whenever the old woman was on a rampage, Anya would make her way to her secret place and hide there until things blew over. It was only a crawlspace beneath the stairs, but her imagination made it a palatial cavern - dark and warm and the one place she could be completely alone. It had been her favorite location, as it was only there that she could gather enough hope to fortify her against whatever hell came next.

Right now, the toilet was as close to that as Anya was going to get.

She reached up and roughly massaged her scalp, trying squeeze some rationality back into her brain.

Dimitri was proving to be a serious problem. She still didn't trust him at all, but that was beside the point. If she didn't figure out some way to handle him, she was most likely going to end up being hauled off to jail somewhere for murder. Although she'd known some questionable people, Anya hadn't encountered his type before - mouthy, overconfident, and just pompous enough to infuriate her with the slightest gesture. Not knowing what to expect from him rattled her self-assurance. She knew virtually nothing about him, but he was inexplicably aware of her all buttons - even when to press them and just how hard to do so.

And though the thought nearly made her queasy, she knew she couldn't get to Paris without him. There was no going back to St. Petersburg, not now. The realization burned through her anger.

She noticed her heartbeat had normalized enough for rational behavior, so she took one more calming breath before she stepped outside.

After strolling down the hallway into the next car, she eventually arrived at the scene of her earlier crime.

The dining car had just finished serving the evening meal. Busboys scurried from one table to the next, filling the air with the clinking of dirty dishes. A few gentlemen in suits were crowding the small bar set apart from the dining booths, sipping from snifters as they chatted and blew lazy clouds of cigar smoke. Anya wished like hell she could afford to buy herself a drink. Since that was out of the question, she figured she'd just sit at the bar and be satisfied with inhaling the boozy fumes.

A man in a coat the same color as his glass of wine grinned at her as she plopped down next to him on the only available stool. Even though she could feel his eyes on her, she kept her own on the array of liquor bottles lined up along the wall.

He must have sensed her disinterest, as he stood a few moments later and disappeared from her side. Anya noticed he'd left a full glass on the bar and looked over to make sure he was gone for good, just in time to meet Dimitri's surprised expression. He was seated on the other side of the now-empty stool, looking as unhappy to see her as she was to see him.

"Shit," Anya hissed, moving to stand.

"My sentiments exactly. But please, Your Highness, don't leave on my account," Dimitri sneered.

"Why wouldn't I? I'm avoiding you," Anya spat, crossing her arms over her chest. "How did you end up here anyway? You a drunk as well as a bastard?"

He turned back to the bar, a smile flirting with his lips as he took his half-full glass into his hands and ran his thumbs through the condensation. "A drunk, no. A bastard...maybe. In any case, you drove me to drink."

Same here, Anya thought, even as she glowered at him.

Dimitri looked up at her again, apparently noticing that she was still half-standing, one thigh lingering on the stool.

"That position looks uncomfortable," he said with a smirk.

Anya groaned and stood up in earnest, ready to walk out.

"Hey - hold on," Dimitri said, reaching over and catching her coat sleeve to keep her from walking off. "Look, just sit down. We need to talk anyway."

He let go of her and Anya obliged him, if only from being weary of their constant back and forth. She sank down on the empty stool between them. "I really don't have anything else to say to you - "

"Well, I do," Dimitri cut in. "So feel free to just sit there and listen."

Anya propped her chin in her hand and didn't answer. She started chewing on her lip and drumming her fingers on the bar, looking everywhere but at him.

He took a deep breath, then said, "We still have a long way to go to get to France, and we're never gonna make it if we go on like this. I'll end up strangling you or you'll try to stab me in my sleep, or something."

When he paused for a long moment, Anya wondered if he was waiting for some kind of reaction. Surely he didn't expect her to laugh - the stabbing part was pretty accurate, considering how he made her feel most of the time. His waiting was confirmed as the moment stretched on, so she took advantage of having the upper hand for the time being and continued to ignore him.

There was a hint of amusement in his voice when he finally went on. "Anyway...I'm proposing a truce."

Anya grunted and swiveled in the seat to cut her eyes at him. "Please...that means you'd have to keep your mouth shut, and honestly, I don't think you have it in you."

Dimitri only winked at her. "I could say the same for you, Princess."

There it was again, the same hot flush of anger that flooded her body during their last conversation. This time, Anya closed her eyes, leaned back and grasped desperately for thoughts of anything that made her happy - puppies, rain, the scent of peppermint. When she finally opened her eyes again, she was calm again. And exhausted.

Resigned, she sat up and focused again on Dimitri, who was staring at her like she'd grown a second head. She was done fighting with him for today. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner somewhere and go to sleep.

"Ok, Dimitri," she said, not bothering to stifle her yawn. "What exactly is involved in this so-called truce?"

Dimitri raised an eyebrow."That's it? Really? I don't need battle plans to get you to agree?"

Anya crossed her legs with an evil smile. "Don't press your luck."

"Right." Dimitri sat back, stroking his chin and looking thoughtful. "I think we should keep it simple. Like school children. Nothing more binding than a schoolyard truce, right?"

Anya shrugged. "Fine."

"Well," Dimitri continued with an impish gleam in his eye, "speaking of children, I was thinking somewhere along the lines of you being seen and not heard..."

Anya threw him a dirty look. "I think you'd better try that again."

"Okay, fine," he conceded with a laugh. He tapped a finger on his pursed lips, considering. "How about this, then: 'if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all'?"

So Anya hadn't imagined it - Dimitri was definitely teasing her. Though that knowledge made her want to push him off his stool, it was becoming difficult not to find their current exchange a bit amusing. Anya cleared her throat to keep a straight face and took the bait he was offering. "Okay. I can live with that if you can."

"Works for me." Dimitri stuck out his hand and flashed a smile at her that was equal parts sweet and devilish. Anya was apalled at the momentary fluttering she felt in the pit of her stomach before she chased away the feeling with a scowl. She would bet money that grin alone had gotten him many things from many women over the years.

Anya didn't plan on giving Dimitri anything but a hard time. He was still an asshole.

"Well?" he prompted when she didn't respond, eyes shining with mirth, as if he, too, was in danger of laughing out loud. "An agreement of this magnitude certainly warrants a handshake."

Biting back a smile, Anya reached out and placed her hand in his.

She'd removed her gloves for the first time since they met only a few hours ago. The instant her naked skin made initial contact with the warmth of Dimitri's she gasped, and all the humor of the situation evaporated.

Out of nowhere she felt blanketed with heat, similar to the sensation that swept over her when she was angry with him. But this was somehow entirely different. It was thicker, heavy enough to drop her lids to half mast; it was more centralized, emanating from the core of her body and radiating outward in lucious, frightening waves. Every inch of her skin felt prickly and hot and that strange pressure in her chest returned in full force, making her feel like she was drowning.

His palm was surprisingly smooth and much softer than she'd expected. She'd always thought her hands were too big for a girl's, but his made hers feel tiny and perfectly feminine. When she looked down, she saw his entire hand had enveloped hers, his slender fingers nearly reaching her wrist. They were long and tapered, like a master musician's, and Anya suddenly wondered with startling enthusiasm what it would feel like to have hands like that gliding over her heated skin, disappearing into places no one had ever seen -

Without thinking, she snatched her hand back and slapped it onto her forehead, a troublesome reaction to extreme stress she'd developed as a child. The headache that ensued quickly smothered that horrible thought.

"Hey."

Still wincing, Anya glanced up at Dimitri. His smile had also disappeared. He looked as tense and disturbed as she felt.

He said rather gravely, "In the spirit of our truce, I think you should have this." He slid his drink down the bar into Anya's hands.

"What is this, anyway?" Anya asked as she nervously cleared her throat, leaning down to sniff at the dark liquid.

"Bourbon," Dimitri said. "You look like you need that more than I do."

And oh, she did, but even as Anya tossed that entire drink down her throat like she'd die without it and felt its fire put out her own internal flames, she was not about to allow Dimitri the last word. That just wasn't her style.

She slammed the glass down on the counter and licked her burning lips before gracefully sliding off the bar stool.

"Thanks for that," she said brightly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to catch up on my beauty sleep."

She began to saunter past him before she stopped and turned again, quick enough to catch Dimitri with his mouth open, no doubt in the process of arming himself with a smart remark at her expense.

"I almost forgot," she laughed, watching Dimitri's eyebrows dip low over his eyes in confusion.

"Remember how my ass was the subject of our earlier conversation?" she asked with all the sweetness of vinegar. "I'll make sure I sleep with that end up so you'll remember to kiss it."


	11. Leap of Faith

Anya was snoring.

Seated across from her, Dimitri squirmed against the overstuffed seat for the thousandth time, more uncomfortable than he could ever remember being despite the plushness of their train compartment.

It wasn't that Anya was loud - quite the opposite, in fact. She sounded as if she were purring, with a soft whistle at the end of every other breath or so. Dimitri suspected that had she been anyone else, he would have merely folded his hands in his lap and dozed off as well. But she was Anya, and in the hour since he'd returned from the bar he'd gone from feeling mildly irritated to considering the merits of peeling off his own fingernails. Her presence alone was affecting Dimitri's focus, clouding his thoughts, making him less than blade-sharp and susceptible to mistakes. And that was very, very dangerous.

Grunting, he crossed his legs and uncrossed them, shifted once more so he could prop himself against the wall, rustled the papers in his lap as loudly as possible. His watch ticked louder and louder. His heart beat a little too fast.

This was completely unlike him. The tunnel vision he'd developed over the years had proven time and again to be the greatest asset to his survival. Vladimir had made sure of that since the day they met, drilling into Dimitri the dangers of distraction when it came to the con. Losing focus was equal to losing one's will to live. That knowledge had been embedded in Dimitri's mind for many years now, like part of his DNA.

Still, after passing a hand over his eyes, Dimitri opened them and found himself looking at Anya again.

A smile tugged at his lips. He'd chuckled to himself for a while at the bar after she'd delivered her parting shot. Such a little spitfire, that mouth so much bigger than the rest of her. Especially her hands.

His eyes fell to his own hands as he made a fist with the one that had held hers. He could still feel the coolness of her skin against his palm, the knob of her little wrist against his fingertips. She had the softness of stone whenever they exchanged words, but in his hand she felt delicate, as fragile as an empty shell.

Dimitri sighed hard and angrily brushed the hair out of his eyes. Thoughts like that were getting him nowhere. He reached behind him to knead the muscles of his neck and shoulders.

Trying to refocus, he dragged his attention back to proofing the travel documents that would get them across the border. He pored over the stolen original he'd lifted off a drunk in a bar back in the city, ensuring Vladimir's copies were absolute duplicates. They were, of course; his partner was a magician with a pen, but this whole ordeal had left Dimitri antsy enough to keeping checking until his head hurt.

Then Vladimir's earlier comment about Dimitri, Anya and their so-called "unspoken attraction" drifted back to him.

Bullshit, he thought viciously, even as an unconscious Anya drew his eyes again like some magnetic force.

He finally gave up and put the papers down, figuring if he just let himself look and get it over with, he could concentrate.

She'd smushed her face into her coat, which was wadded up beneath her cheek as a makeshift pillow. She was curled into a protective ball on the seat, head bowed and knees drawn up close to her chin. With her face so relaxed, she looked childlike and vulnerable, a severe contrast to when she was awake and raving. Dimitri was alarmed to find he almost missed her eyes blazing at him -

"Dimitri, we have a - "

He jumped up like he'd been shot as Vladimir stepped inside the compartment, startled and embarrassed to have been caught in the act.

Vladimir broke off, frowning as he looked back and forth between Dimitri and Anya's sleeping form. "Why are you so red?"

Dimitri coughed into his fist and waved Vladimir off, quickly changing the subject as he sat back down. "Keep your voice down, alright? This is the most peace I've had in hours, so please don't wake the she-devil."

A chill passed through Dimitri's body then that had nothing to do with the cool air Vladimir had just let in from the hallway, intensifying when Dimitri noticed his grave expression.

Dimitri knew that look. It was the same one Vladimir had worn when Dimitri was thirteen years old and his first con had gone terribly wrong. It had been frozen on the older man's face as he wiped away Dimitri's tears and blood with his own shirt and stitched up the knife wound in Dimitri's side.

"What happened?"

Vladimir's shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. "This is what I hate about this government." He lifted up his copy of the forged travel documents for Dimitri to see. "Everything is in red."

Dimitri's blood turned to sleet. He gaped at Vladimir. " _Red?_ "

Panic was already sucking Dimitri's thoughts into a downward spiral. The ink on the original was blue. The forgeries had been copied in blue. Blue like the Parisian sky, like a Romanov's eyes, like the color of the bruises the guards would give him -

"I propose we move to the baggage car, and quickly. Before the guards come." Vladimir was already snatching down their things from the upper shelf.

"I propose we get off this train!" The same panic that had had him frozen suddenly reanimated Dimitri. He turned and began stuffing the papers into one of the train cases that were stacked next to him on the seat, unconsciously shaking his head as he moved. He should have known this would happen; it had been far too easy thus far. The universe was plotting against him like he'd thought.

"Vlad," he grumbled as he slammed the case shut and clasped it closed, "I  _told_  you we needed to make sure the papers were up to date -"

" - They were, Dimitri, they must have changed them this month - "

" -  _Chyort voz'mi!_ "

Vladimir paused at Dimitri's crude outburst and glared at him. "This is not helping. The guards are only two compartments away." He glanced at Anya, unstirred by all the commotion, and ordered, "Wake her and move. Now." Then he and his armload of suitcases were gone.

Anya's lips had parted and she'd uncurled a little, but other than those hints of life, she was still dead to the world. Dimitri groaned, knowing he'd never hear the end of this.

"Hey." He reached out and shook her knee. "Wake up, we gotta go."

After she didn't respond, he began to shake her harder when her hand flew up. The pain that exploded in his nose made him howl and stagger backward against the opposite seat. "JESUS CHRIST!"

"Oh, God, I'm sor- oh, it's you. Well, that's ok, then."

Hands still clamped over his throbbing nose, Dimitri watched Anya through the spaces between his fingers as she sat up and stretched like a house cat. "I think you broke my nose!" he accused, his voice muffled by his hands.

"I did not. Don't be such a baby. Just be glad I wasn't trying to break it," she scoffed as she rubbed the back of her neck.

Eyes still watering, Dimitri hopped up and grabbed her hand, ignoring the tingling in his palm the moment he touched her.

"We need to go. Right now," he said as he pulled her outside and began dragging her down the hallway.

"Wait, where are we going? What's going on?"

She started to struggle. Dimitri gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on her hand. "Come on!"

"Wait - Pooka!" She jerked her arm free and turned to run back to the compartment, disappearing inside just as a pair of guards emerged from the compartment next door.

Dimitri froze. She was going to be caught.  _He_  was going to be caught.

Seconds later and dog in hand, Anya was face to face with them in the doorway.

From this distance, Dimitri couldn't make out what was said, but he saw Anya make a show of searching her pockets. The guards, their faces stiff as their uniforms, didn't seem to be buying it.

_Shit -_

Anya suddenly ducked between them and broke away. She was now running toward Dimitri, the dog tucked under her arm and yelping, her eyes wild. The surprised guards recovered quickly and gave pursuit.

"Run, you idiot!"

Dimitri snapped out of his stupor and took off like the train was on fire.

He could see Vladimir's head bobbing up and down in the round window of the baggage car door ahead as he made for their exit, shoving startled passengers out of their way with as many apologies as he could manage. The door slid open just as he and Anya approached and Vladimir slammed it shut once they were safely inside.

They didn't have time to catch their breath. The guards arrived a moment later, pounding on the metal and yelling for them to come out or be removed by force. The lock on the door hung broken and useless from the handle, so Vladimir grabbed a large train case from the luggage pile and forced it against the door to keep it closed.

When he was done, all three of them just looked at each other until Anya asked Dimitri, "Any bright ideas?"

Just one.

He scanned the inside of dark car until he found what he was looking for - a thin strip of light right above the floor along the right side of the metal container, near the middle. That light was daylight, and that door was their way out.

He grabbed Anya's arm and the three of them made their way to the other end of the long baggage car, banging knees and elbows and ankles as they stumbled through the luggage.

"Hey, Vlad, give me a hand with this."

Vladimir helped him wrench open the side door that had rusted into place. Vladimir pushed while Dimitri pulled on the handle, and when it gave the force of the tremendous gust that rushed in knocked all three of them on their backs.

Anya yelled as she pushed off the garment bag that had tumbled on top of her. "You're kidding, right?" Though the wind was nearly as loud as the train itself, Dimitri could still hear the disbelief in her voice.

"Stop where you are!"

Dimitri spun around. The original angry guards and their newly arrived reinforcements had been able to push open the door and were tumbling in, moving fast enough to catch them if they didn't move quickly.

Dimitri's thoughts morphed into a chorus of curses.

"Vlad, are you alright?" he yelled. Adrenaline was keeping him hot in the face of the freezing wind, pushing him to action. The guards were still hollering and closing in fast.

"Fine!" Vladimir was standing right on the edge of the doorway with some of their bags. The train had just sped over a bridge and was now coursing through another patch of forest. They were going so fast all Dimitri could make out was a blur of white, green and brown.

Vladimir looked over his shoulder in Dimitri's direction, the waning daylight just enough for Dimitri to make out his face. "Snowbank!" he said simply, and that was all Dimitri needed to hear.

"If you think I'm going to jump out of a moving train, you're out of your mind!"

When Dimitri looked at her, Anya was already backing away, toward the guards. He realized she was going to let herself be taken.

Not on his watch.

In that eerie way of hers she must have sensed his resolution because she started to backpedal faster, but not fast enough. He grabbed her wrist and swung her back toward the open door.

"You're not jumping!" he roared in her ear before he shoved her forward as hard as he could.

The last thing he heard was her scream before he grabbed his bag and took a running leap after her into thin air.


	12. Rumors of War

Anya's scream aborted as the air exploded from her lungs on impact with the ground.

Her right shoulder took the brunt of the force as she tucked her body into a ball and tumbled haphazardly down an incline. She squeezed her eyes shut, vertigo triggering wave upon wave of nausea before she came to a merciful stop face-down at the tree line.

She couldn't move, her arms and legs splayed at odd angles. Chunks of packed snow had bruised her face like rocks. Ice crammed into her mouth and coat during her violent tumble and had melted on contact, numbing her to the bone.

What if she was paralyzed? What if this was the very spot she was to die in, no closer to her destiny than when she'd begun her journey?

Terror seized her, stopping her breath altogether until she began shivering so hard her teeth chattered. She went limp with relief. At least her body was still in one piece.

Sucking in a deep breath, she quickly performed an assessment for damage, first wiggling her fingers and toes, then gingerly bending her arms and legs. She was stiff, but there were no sprains, no broken bones. She rolled over with a groan and came face to face with a pine tree, its snow-laden branches sagging low enough for the thin leaves to brush her cheeks.

She slapped the branch away and struggled to her feet against the throbbing pain in her shoulder.

"I hate trains. Remind me  _never_  to get on a train again."

Red washed across her thoughts as she registered the distant voice, diluting the pain. She stumbled blindly toward the source, hand clutching her shoulder, snow crunching angrily beneath the punishing tread of her boots.

Dimitri was standing several yards away, grinning as he helped pull Vladimir to a stand.

"Hey, Vlad, where's the train case - WHOA!"

Unfortunately for Anya, Dimitri reacted more quickly than she would have liked, jerking out of the way so that her knuckles barely grazed his nose when she swung at him. The reflex threw him off balance and he tumbled backwards to land on his backside, just as bear-like arms grabbed Anya around her midsection and gently swung her away from him.

Vladimir was speaking calmly to her now, squeezing her shoulders with his meaty hands and forcing her to walk back the way she'd come, away from Dimitri. She hardly noticed him, rage making everything hazy, like she was watching the scene through red-tinted fog.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dimitri yelled as he jumped up, pants wet in patches from the snow, his face pinched in confusion and anger.

"Are you kidding? What's wrong with  _me_?" Incredulous, she hollered back at him with enough force to hurt her throat, still trying to push past the wall that was Vladimir to get at Dimitri. "You called a truce and then you pushed me out of a goddamn  _train_!"

"So?" Now it was Dimitri who was advancing, chest heaving and steam bursting from his nostrils. He swiped his hair out of his eyes and barked, "You're not locked up and you're alive, aren't you? I saved your ass!"

Anya could only gape at him in disgust, her hands on her hips. Her breath came faster and faster, her lungs and throat burning with every inhale of freezing air. "Let me get this right: you conduct some back-alley shit with our tickets that almost gets us thrown off the train...and I'm supposed to be  _grateful_?"

"You better!" Dimitri shot back. "We're the only reason you could get on a train at all, and if it wasn't for you going back to get that stupid dog, we wouldn't be in this situation!"

The smug look on his face pushed Anya over the edge.

"God, I  _hate_ you!" she screeched, but Vladimir was ready for her when she lunged at Dimitri this time. With a long-suffering groan, he picked her up and deposited her wriggling form next to a rotting log several feet away.

"You stay here," he said simply, his voice demanding obedience, its gruffness a stark contrast to the gentle hands he placed on her shoulders.

"But I - he -" Anya protested, far too upset to be intelligible.

"Yes." Vladimir gave her a small, knowing smile. "I will talk to him."

"Don't bother!" Anya violently shrugged him off and stepped away, so livid now that she was shaking. Aside from the fact that Dimitri had callously shoved her out of a train with no thought for her safety, knowing Paris and its possibilities had slipped through her fingers again was almost more than she could bear. Eyes burning, she stubbornly swallowed back the tears that threatened the corners of her eyes. "I'm not dealing with him anymore! You two do whatever the hell you want; I'm done!"

Vladimir started to object, but Anya only threw up her hands. She meant what she'd said. She was done with all of it.

When Vladimir reached for her hand, she brushed him off and turned her focus to looking for Pooka. The poor thing was probably terrified; she'd lost her grip on him in when she'd hit the ground and there was no telling how far he'd been thrown.

"Pooka!  _Pooka_!"

A happy bark sounded from somewhere within the treeline behind her, and she whirled to see Pooka running toward her feet. Smiling as she picked him up, Anya held him close as the snowflakes caught in his fur melted on her cheeks.

She could hear Vladimir trying to talk Dimitri down from his tantrum, but Anya couldn't care less about what was being said. Her focus was on the train tracks that disappeared around a curve a few miles ahead.

"Hey!" Dimitri called after her as she turned to follow the tracks. "Where do you think you're going?"

Anya pulled her coat lapels in tighter around she and Pooka and walked faster.

"Anya!"

"Kiss my ass, Dimitri!" she yelled over her shoulder, refusing to look back.

After a moment Anya could hear quick footsteps behind her. Dimitri ran up next her and then moved to stand in her path. Ignoring him, Anya side-stepped to move around him.

"I'm sorry, do you have some grand plan here you'd like to let us in on?" he taunted, trying to get a rise out of her.

It was working. But Anya bristled and didn't respond.

Dimitri kept at it, first dogging her steps, then stepping in front of her every time she would brush past him. "What are you going to do without money? What happens when the train track forks and you don't have a map?"

"I'll figure it out!"

"Please, Anya, you'll never make it without us and you know it!"

The sting of that simple statement and nothing else made Anya stop. It didn't really matter how callous or infuriating Dimitri was, or how much she hated him. What he'd said was true. She could keep recognizing it, then refusing to believe it, but it didn't change anything. If she had any small reason to believe it was possible to make it across the continent on her own, she would have kept walking until she passed out. But she was in the middle of nowhere, no food, no map, with only what could hardly be called a coat on her back for warmth. She could die out here.

So what now? As far as she was concerned, her little enterprise with Vladimir and Dimitri was over. But Dimitri still had two things she needed to make it alone. She'd simply find a way to relieve him of both.

When Anya finally turned around, Dimitri was still standing there with his arms crossed, a wry smile on his lips. "Have we finally come to our senses?"

"How much money do you have exactly?" Anya asked bluntly, her face carefully blank.

Dimitri seemed thrown by the abrupt question and narrowed his eyes. "Enough. Nothing to concern yourself with." His gaze grew penetrative and suspicious.

Rethinking things, Anya decided she was above petty thievery and abandoned the plan to rob Dimitri and Vladimir and leave them destitute in the wilderness. But she was not above snatching the map. They seemed to be well-traveled men; they'd find their way. This, however, was Anya's maiden voyage. "Where's the map, then?"

"In the suitcase." Dimitri seemed tense. His shoulders were drawn up but Anya knew is was from more than just the cold.

"Well? Can I see it? Don't I deserve that much after you tried to kill me?" She hoped she looked innocent enough.

Dimitri seemed to mull it over before deciding her request was as benign as Anya had intended for him to believe.

"I guess it can't hurt." He began walking back to where Vladimir stood with the suitcases and Anya followed him.

Anya immediately noticed the tension in the usually relaxed Vladimir as they approached.

"God, Vlad, what's wrong now?" Dimitri must have noticed as well.

"That," Vladimir said tightly as he pointed at the ground, "is not your suitcase."

And Dimitri went so pale, so quickly, Anya thought he was literally going to faint where he stood. She thought she heard him praying as he dropped to his knees and ripped open the black case, releasing a profusion of silk and lace in black, beige and white. A woman's underthings.

If Dimitri hadn't looked so devastated Anya probably would have laughed in his face.

Though she already knew the answer, she couldn't stop herself asking pointedly, "So, Dimitri, where's the map?"

When he mumbled something under his breath, Anya prodded him further. "I'm sorry, what did you say? I couldn't hear you over just 'how much I need you'."

"It's on the train," he said, snarling. He stood up, slapping snow off his knees.

"And the money?" Vladimir's voice was strained and slightly higher than usual.

Dimitri briefly hung his head before looking out in the distance, back toward St. Petersburg, no doubt wishing he had never left. "There's 80  _rubles_  in my coat pocket. The rest I left in the case for safekeeping."

So it seemed Dimitri did not have everything under control after all, and it took everything in Anya's being not to gloat like a schoolyard bully. In the end, she couldn't help it. She was downright giddy.

"Well," she said, shifting Pooka to her other arm and taking a seat on one of the suitcases, "since we're all in the same pickle, I guess I'll stick around for a while longer." She smiled brightly at Dimitri. "At least with you two around the wolves will have something to snack on before they get to me."


	13. Cold Shoulder

"Dimitri," Vladimir said, his voice reasonable even as the corners of his eyes crinkled with suppressed amusement, "you would trip less if you did not stare so much."

Scowling in response, Dimitri recovered quickly from his most recent stumble over something in his path hidden by snow. He paused, leaning down to knock a clod of dirt off the toe of his wet shoe with as much dignity as he could muster.

"Vlad, worry about yourself," he replied lamely, annoyed with himself for not being able to look anywhere but at Anya up ahead and even more irritated with Vladimir for noticing.

Vladimir grunted as he heaved his suitcase from one numb hand to the other. "I see. Perhaps I was mistaken. Again."

When Dimitri looked his way, the knowing look on Vladimir's face suggested he was certain he wasn't mistaken at all.

Dimitri rolled his eyes and quickened his pace, ignoring Vladimir's smug smile.

The cold breeze at their backs since they began their trek had turned harsh and bitter with the sun's descent, now blasting out of the north in frosty squalls that blew snow into the crevices of Dimitri's clothes. Shivering, he continued to watch Anya march through snowbank after snowbank, always yards ahead of them, his resentment the only thing keeping him warm enough to keep going.

Dimitri gave up trying to talk to her an hour ago. Once she had finished gloating, she refused to respond to anything he said or did to get some response out of her, defiantly maintaining a breakneck pace that kept her so far ahead Dimitri would have had to yell to be heard. So he fell back, stewing in his general displeasure with the entire situation.

The effort it was taking to keep his arms tucked tightly against his body to conserve heat made the muscles in his back and shoulders ache. Every time he cupped his gloved hands and blew into the empty space, the hot air went cold the instant it left his mouth. Dimitri and his breathless companion continued to trudge along the train tracks, skirting the edge of a black wilderness, both struggling with suitcases heavy with the remnants of St. Petersburg - every step a new soggy, freezing misery.

God only knew where they were going; with no map and a twilight sky thick with low, sooty clouds bearing down upon them, Dimitri was guessing at best. The only thing keeping him from doing an about-face and running straight back to the city was the insurance he kept hidden in his coat's breast pocket.

Once again, Dimitri gave into the compulsion to let his fingertips graze the nubbed surface of the Romanov jewelry box nestled against his chest. He never trusted its safety to a suitcase; its importance - to their grand plan, to his future - was too great. He never let it out of his sight and never would, not until the day he placed it in the aged hands of the Dowager Empress herself.

A familiar wheezing noise emanating from behind him caught Dimitri's full attention. Instantly concerned, Dimitri turned back and trotted over to Vladimir's side. "You okay?"

Vladimir, obstinate even as he doubled over, waved him off. "I am fine...just...tired..." Then a brutal coughing fit began that made Dimitri's own chest burn with sympathy. He forced Vladimir to take a seat atop one of the suitcases to rest.

"Dimitri," Vladimir grumbled as his chest rattled, "I am fine -"

"Fine my ass." That cough was as familiar to Dimitri as his own heartbeat. Vladimir was pushing it, and if he didn't stop and take it easy, things could get dangerous for him.

Dimitri narrowed his eyes at Vladimir's bravado and stood nearby until the coughing subsided, his fists on his hips. The sun had nearly disappeared from view over the tips of the trees. The darkness around them now seemed mere shades from absolute, as if the inky spaces between the foliage at the treeline were oozing ever forward, tracking them like prey.

Dimitri hated the dark. Horrible things happened in such an environment. Grotesque revelations could lurk there, waiting to be unearthed by the light of day.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Dimitri groaned and willed away the wave of nausea and the mental image that had triggered it. There it was again, the stress that nearly always unleashed the memories he tried so desperately to bury. Since he'd met Anya, there had been a constant stream of it.

When Dimitri opened his eyes and looked to where he'd last seen her, he stopped breathing.

He couldn't see Anya at all.

Dimitri took off running without another thought.

"Anya! _Anya!_ "

The only sound that answered him was the staccato crunch of ice beneath his shoes and the distant howls of predators awakening to feed.

"Shit...ANYA!"

Pooka's bark gave her away and Dimitri stopped, his momentum briefly causing him to lose his balance. He chose not to focus on the fact that the relief replacing his momentary panic was so strong it made him lightheaded.

"Anya?" He squinted hard, willing his pupils to dilate further; he could make out a faint, slim silhouette, but nothing more.

"What?" If anything, she sounded perturbed, like he was interrupting something important. She stood close by, but not close enough for Dimitri to reach out and touch her. Not that he wanted to.

Dimitri bristled. "What do you mean, 'what'? What the hell are you doing? I practically had to run a mile just to catch up to you."

He supposed she sighed but it sounded more like a groan. "How is it my fault if you can't keep up? I don't have time to tiptoe along the tracks like you two."

Dimitri instantly went from being concerned for her safety to wanting to strangle her. What was wrong with her? What woman wanted to tramp around in the icy dark alone, without a map?

He growled when he said, "You're out of your mind."

"What did you want, Dimitri?" she snapped. "If you came down here just to annoy me, you'd better go back where you came from." But Dimitri thought he could hear her teeth chattering.

He sighed. "You need to come back. It's not safe for you to be wandering around out here alone this far head."

"I can take care of myself. Besides, I'm still not speaking to you - "

"Anya, don't be stupid. There's wolves and bears and all kinds of dangerous animals out here and it's freezing cold. We need to stay together."

"I have to keep moving...I can't afford to stop, not now."

Dimitri felt a twinge in his chest when he caught the hint of desperation in her words. "Look, Vlad's in a bad way. He has this...this issue with his chest...anyway, we really should stop for the night. Aside from that, you're a flesh and blood human being, Anya. You are capable of freezing to death or dropping dead from exhaustion or being eaten alive. Then you'll never see Paris. Is that what you want?"

When she didn't respond, Dimitri half-laughed, "That question was rhetorical."

After a moment, Anya exhaled long and hard and a childlike quality crept into her voice. "Is Vlad okay?"

"He will be." Not for the first time, Dimitri was surprised by how quickly a kinship seemed to have been forged between Anya and Vladimir. He knew Vladimir was the only reason Anya wasn't putting up a real fight with Dimitri now.

Another minute passed. Anya said nothing, as if she was still considering walking through the night until she collapsed.

"Fine."

"What?" Dimitri had been distracted for a second, straining to hear any danger that might be prowling nearby.

"I'll come back with you."

"Good. Follow me." He turned to go back to Vladimir.

"Wait - where are you? I can barely see...it's dark as hell out here."

"Here." Dimitri stuck his hand out into empty space.

"Where?"

"Right here." He could hear her light footsteps getting louder as she approached him. "Can you see my hand?"

"Yeah, I think so -"

Anya broke off, but Dimitri didn't have to wonder why. His own brain activity had ceased at the same moment, when her fingertips reached out and brushed the tips of his gloves, the hot spark that shot through his body comically at odds with their environment.

So it hadn't been a fluke, an after effect of the alcohol coursing through his blood during their encounter at the bar on the train. There was no way Dimitri could deny feeling something between them now. He couldn't speak then if he wanted to, especially when Anya closed her trembling hand around his fingers and murmured through clenched teeth, "God, your hand is so warm."

He coughed, shaking himself. "What-what happened to your gloves?"

"I must have left them on the train." She sniffled. "It's not like I had time to get myself together before you pushed me out of the damn thing."

Dimitri had to smile to himself, grateful that Anya couldn't make out his face. Even in the midst of their exchange in the dark, he could tell from her sassy tone she was still angry. He had no doubt if she saw his expression she'd think he was making fun and he would be ducking her fist again.

His smile widened. She had actually been ready to fight him, skid row style, like she'd won a bet and planned to beat her payment out of him. It would be no contest, of course - especially since Dimitri would never hurt a female - but he had to admit he appreciated a girl with such a fiery disposition.

That still didn't mean he could tolerate her, let alone like her. At all.

That was also, well...ridiculous.

Dimitri quickly extracted his hand and tugged off his gloves, knowing Anya would somehow make him regret what he was about to do.

"What are you doing?" she demanded when he grabbed her wrist and slapped them into her palm.

"Take them." His decision was not about making Anya comfortable. Dimitri couldn't have her meeting the royal family with frostbitten hands. Absolute necessity was the only reason he would make himself suffer.

She moved to push them back into his hands. "I'm fine. You don't have to -"

"I know I don't," Dimitri said, insistent. "But I'm giving them to you, so take them."

Still, Anya protested. "I don't need your charity - "

"- Hey, do you hear that sound?" Dimitri asked suddenly.

"Hear what?" Anya asked, her words ringing with instant alarm. She hopped closer to him. "What do you hear?"

"That's the sound of the end of this conversation, Your Highness, so put on the gloves, shut your mouth and follow me back."

He could hear Anya shuffling her feet before she said, "Just don't go too fast, okay?"

Dimitri turned his back to her and said, "Put your hands on my shoulders."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes."

He waited for Anya to find him in the darkness. After a moment, he felt her swatting at the back of his coat. "Higher, Anya."

Her hands patted their way to their target then rested lightly, uncomfortably on his shoulders. Anya cleared her throat as if it pained her to do it. "Okay, go."

Dimitri led her back the way he'd come. Anya stumbled, just like he had, each time obliterating the respectable distance she tried to keep between their bodies.

By the time they reached their luggage, Dimitri had forgotten the cold altogether.


	14. Breaking Stones

A violent shake to Anya's foot blasted her back to consciousness.

Prying her eyelids apart, she lifted her head slightly with a loud groan only to be assaulted by a searing dissonance of color - fragments of light filtered by the panes of a tall stained glass window.

She slapped a hand over her eyes with a wince and lay her head back down. Her entire body yelped in exhaustion after struggling through thigh-deep snow in the dark for more hours than she cared to remember. "Ugh, five more minutes, please."

Anya could tell without looking it was Dimitri and not Vladimir looming over her as she lay stretched out on the unforgiving wooden chairs that formed a pew. She could sense the way he bent the air around him, as if the dark aura that constantly surrounded him sucked in all the energy in the room like a black hole. As it was, the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up whenever he was this close to her. But she didn't like to think about that.

"Not today, your highness," he said, his words gruff. She felt him swat at her shoe hanging over the edge of the chair at the end of the row before he told her, "I don't want to be here any longer than we have to. People ask too many questions in small towns."

Anya rolled over onto her back. Dimitri stood nearby, squinting at the window. The blues and greens and reds produced by the glass looked attached to his face, like some kind of colorful, angular pox.

Narrowing her eyes at his profile, Anya wondered why Dimitri was so anxious to leave the safety of the tiny chapel built from unfinished logs they'd stumbled upon in the wee hours of morning. "What's wrong with meeting people?" she asked with a wide yawn. "They could probably help us. It's not like we have anything to hide. Right?"

Dimitri didn't acknowledge her, but his look turned so stormy Anya decided not to pursue the topic and asked about Vladimir and Pooka's whereabouts instead.

"He went into the village to see about getting a map about a half hour ago," Dimitri begrudgingly told her as he sat down at the end of the makeshift pew directly in front of her. "Of course, he took the mutt."

Anya sighed, fatigue and the hard chill in the room making her bones ache. "We just got here, Dimitri...you couldn't have let me sleep until he got back?"

He glanced back over his shoulder with an evil smirk. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Anya sat up and swung her feet to the floor, her battle senses ignited by the prospect of antagonizing him. She wasn't over what he did to her on the train; it had taken little for him to rile her ever since. Aside from that, the fact that after all his gloating and posturing he had picked up the wrong suitcase was still too good to be true. She was going to stick it to him every chance she got.

"You know what, why didn't  _you_  go find a map? Last time I checked, all of this -" she made a sweeping gesture about the room "- was your fault. Besides, Vlad would've let me sleep after we almost died walking around in the wilderness -"

"Anya, for once in your life, shut up."

She was on her feet and in the aisle next to the window before she'd realized what happened.

"No," she said through clenched teeth, her body temperature rising dramatically. "And if you wanna make me, I would love to see you try."

Dimitri stood much more slowly and faced her, a strange combination of barely concealed contempt and amusement emphasizing the hard lines of his features.

"What's wrong?" she asked mockingly when he only scowled down at her. "Can't face the truth?"

"The truth of what?" His response was sharp, his smile bitter with no hint of humor. "Of how much I wish I would've left your ass in St. Petersburg?"

"Nope. That you don't have a clue what to do next and you're letting Vlad do all the legwork." Anya was beginning to feel slightly manic. As her mouth moved faster and faster and the pitch of her voice began to rise, her brain had less and less to do with her words.

"Can't you take responsibility for once? He gets a map and then what? What are we gonna do about money? How long do you honestly think 80  _rubles_  is gonna last? We could die out here!  _I_ could die out here! I'll never get to Paris, I'll never know..."

Anya hadn't realized just how angry she was with the state they were in - and with whatever it was growing between herself and Dimitri she so desperately wanted to smother. She trusted no one, would depend on no one. Paris and the truth of her identity had always been her singular goal. There had never been any room in her life for weakness. Knowing so acutely that she needed Dimitri was already too much to bear. There was no way in hell she could allow herself to want him, too.

Dimitri stared at her in silence from beneath furrowed brows, his own rage rolling off him like sweat.

Anya could feel deep within herself that she was reaching some kind of breaking point. Her feelings were becoming more difficult to strangle with every passing moment.

She needed a fight. Luckily for her, Dimitri had more than earned the brunt of her wrath.

Before Anya could open her mouth again to speak, the rays of early morning shifted outside the window, causing a spear of blood red light to fall right across Dimitri's lips.

He licked them briefly and all the fight drained out of Anya in an instant.

She swallowed, hard. Struggled to remember that Dimitri was the most reckless, infuriating, most uncomprehensibly selfish human being she'd ever known.

But she became aware that she'd moved closer to him during her tirade and now stood mere inches from his face. From very full lips, she had to admit, that were the most perfectly formed she had ever seen.

That now-familar hot rush returned, transforming her anger into something else entirely as his dark eyes bore into hers.

Anya could hardly function for the hot chills assaulting her body, thinking of the night before when their fingertips brushed as he handed her his gloves. She'd felt something, a spark, gone so quickly she'd wondered if she'd imagined it. Now standing close enough to her adversary to feel the heat from his body seep into hers, she didn't have to wonder any more.

Dimitri's voice was low and dangerous when he spoke again.

"Maybe I should've let Vlad babysit you after all."

Anya couldn't look away from his mouth. "You think he could handle me better?" she almost croaked.

He chuckled. Anya watched his Adam's apple bob. "No...but if I wanted to 'handle' you, you'd be handled already."

The challenge she heard in his voice hit like a bolt of lightning right between her thighs.

Chest heaving, Anya realized she was in very dangerous territory. She knew she should do something to break this hold he seemed to have on her, to turn her back and walk away.

Chewing her bottom lip, she glanced up again and caught his gaze, disgusted by her inability to turn away.

She'd warned Dimitri when they met against him putting his hands on her, but in this moment, Anya found she never wanted anyone to touch her so badly in her entire life.

"Like I said," she heard herself whisper, "I'd like to see you try -"

Vladimir's voice booming across the room finally broke the spell.

"I see you are getting along this morning," he said brightly, sidestepping toward them down Dimitri's pew row with a long roll of paper under one arm and a wriggling Pooka under the other.

Ducking her head to hide the blush staining her cheeks, Anya practically stumbled back to her own pew, feeling as if she'd just been defeated in battle.

Dimitri remained where he was and crossed his arms over his chest. "Something like that," he told Vladimir, and Anya could feel his eyes on her.

Vladimir grunted his approval and announced, "I have a map. There is a pub in the village. We should get food and discuss how to proceed."

"Well, let's go." Dimitri grabbed Vladimir's suitcase and headed for the door. Anya avoided eye contact with him as she eased Pooka from Vladimir's arms and followed them outside.

A light snowfall began as they walked into a rough village carved out of a patch of forest east of the train tracks, composed of perhaps fifteen families and built around what looked to be a hunting camp for wild game. Aside from the chapel, it was just large enough for a communal meat processing area near the tree line and the tiny centralized pub. Foot traffic on the main dirt path into the community's center was sparce due to the early hour, and the few weathered men and women Anya saw emerge from any of the thatch-roofed houses eyed the three of them with obvious mistrust.

The bald man behind the bar seemed to be the most congenial fellow around, nodding grimly as they stepped inside the dark room and made for the least rickety table near the fire.

A boy wearing an apron stained with old blood emerged from somewhere behind them and placed a meal presumably prearranged by Vladimir in front of each of them - liver, potatoes and boiled vegetables for the men, a bowl of hot broth for Anya - before slinking away again without a word. Stomach growling, Anya eyed Dimitri's and Vladimir's steaming plates with unconcealed envy as they began to eat, Dimitri with a distinct masculine grace Anya had never noticed before. When neither of them seemed to notice her pining for their meat and they began to converse quietly about their plans, she resigned to pick up her spoon and taste her thin soup.

She was mid-slurp when she felt Dimitri watching her again.

Anya resisted the temptation to meet his eyes but made a conscious effort to sit up straighter, sipping from her spoon without a sound the way she'd learned during their lesson on the train. All the while she pretended the sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades was caused by the fireplace at her back and not Dimitri's hot stare.

"According to the gentleman who owns the pub," Vladimir began in a low voice after their plates had been set aside and Dimitri had rolled the map out flat on the table, "we are approximately 25 kilometers from Ludza, here." Vladimir placed a finger on the site of the small town, so small it nearly disappeared into a crease in the stained paper.

Dimitri considered the map, tapping thoughtfully on his chin before he looked up at Vladimir with skepticism. "And how are we getting to Ludza exactly?"

Vladimir didn't blink. "We walk."

Dimitri cursed.

Anya looked back and forth between them, thinking of the holes she had already worn into her boots. "So we're walking to Paris?"

Dimitri looked as if he was suprised to discover her still sitting there, she'd been quiet for so long. "No, Your Grace...we're taking a boat in Germany."

"So we're walking to Germany, then?"

"There is a bus we will take," Vladimir explained as he traced the path on the map, "once we arrive in Ludza. It will take us through Poland to the German border. From there, we go to the port in Stralsund. That boat will eventually arrive in Le Havre, France."

Frowning at Vladimir's curiously spot-on pronunciation of the French town, Anya put her questions aside when she noticed Dimitri and Vladimir had already shut her out of their conversation again.

Her nerves were already stretched to the breaking point. Dimitri suddenly pretending she didn't exist while she sat embroiled in an internal battle was about to push her over the brink.

"Excuse me - " she started to interrupt tersely, but when Dimitri pushed his plate and its chunk of liver towards her on the table, the words died on her lips. He only raised his eyebrows at her before resuming his hushed discussion with Vladimir without breaking a stride.

Anya stared.

He knew she was starving, despite how hard she'd tried to hide it. There hadn't been much meat to begin with; she knew he could have polished it off with no problem and still have been hungry himself. But he had saved it.

For her.

Her heartbeat picked up for no reason at all.

Anya finished his plate with trembling hands and manners fit for the table of the Czar himself. Then she jumped up out of her seat and told the men they could meet her outside when they were ready.

The sooner they got to Paris and Dimitri was out of her life - and her head - the better.


	15. Fork in the Road: Part 1

The train debacle had dealt a serious blow to Dimitri's ego as a trade professional.

Since their impromptu escape, his mind had been consumed with scrambling to salvage the remains of a con that was supposed to be the crown jewel of all his deceptions. It became apparent, however, that somewhere during the fireside discussions with Vladimir about money woes and route-planning, Anya herself - the key ingredient to that con - had become an afterthought.

Two whole days had passed before Dimitri noticed how she made a point to sit on the opposing side of their campfires, avoiding eye contact altogether, hardly speaking.

Dimitri knew something was wrong when he realized just how long he'd gone without bearing the brunt of her usually sharp tongue. He should have enjoyed her unusual reserve, but there was an uneasiness about it that encouraged cold sweats. If he thought a petulant Anya was difficult to stomach before, he found the sullen, brooding version almost intolerable.

Punching his fists into his pockets, he continued to trail behind her, frowning at the forest floor as he picked his way through half-dead vegetation.

He cursed when he lost his balance again while kicking some brush from his path. The exhaustion making him unsteady on his feet had little to do with the miles of walking or meager consumption of food.

Dimitri was worn out from his need to watch Anya's every move. He hadn't slept much since the train - first because of his panic, then because he'd learned she liked to wander off - and it somehow wasn't enough to know exactly where she was. He needed to  _see_  her. He had an investment to protect, after all. Anya's resistance only made his urge to tighten the leash that much stronger.

Dimitri called her name. She didn't so much as slow her pace.

In a burst of frustration, Dimitri flicked one of the offshoots he'd stripped from a dead branch at the back of Anya's head.

She barely flinched. Pausing for a second when the tiny stick whizzed past her ear, she turned around to nail him with a homicidal glare before resuming her search for wood not soaked by the melting snow.

That was the only direct response she'd given Dimitri in the last four days.

Four days, six hours and - he checked his watch - seventeen minutes.

Give or take.

Dimitri passed a hand over his face with a sigh, knowing he should feel grateful. He'd lost count of how many times since St. Petersburg he'd considered taping her mouth shut. Or knocking her over the head and dragging her by the ankles the rest of the way to Paris in blessed silence as a last resort.

No matter how many times he reminded himself that he wasn't supposed to care - that he didn't care, goddamit - Anya's sudden refusal to acknowledge his presence irked him in a way that made no sense at all. Even once he became aware of the invisible wall she had erected around herself since they left the village, Dimitri had his own reasons for why he hadn't considered breaching it until now.

If they didn't speak, she wouldn't look at him. If she didn't look at him, his chest would be in no danger of becoming vise-tight, like he could never suck in a breath deep enough for normal respiration again.

And if he could breathe, he could think straight - a once-effortless ability that eluded him since they met. Then he could get them to Paris safe and sound, trade Anya for his millions, and cut all ties. Easy, clean. Like it was always supposed to be.

But nothing in Dimitri's world was ever that simple, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

After all, didn't he get her out of the city, as promised? True, his methods turned out to be a bit...unorthodox, but he'd thus far kept his end of the bargain, hadn't he? And afterward, even though she didn't deserve it, he'd tried hard to be nice to her. And all Dimitri got in return as thanks were tight lips and caustic silence.

Ungrateful brat.

His jaw clenched. He was done entertaining Anya's nonsense. It was time to remind her who was running the show.

Dimitri broke into a jog, hustling up to Anya's side before thrusting his body directly in her path. She was searching the ground so intently she ran into him with her armload of firewood.

As she backed up a few paces and her eyes snapped up to his, he demanded, "You are going to stand here, right now, and tell me what the hell your problem is." He rubbed absently at his chest where a stick had poked him.

Anya raised an eyebrow and barked out a nasty laugh. "Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said." Dimitri crossed his arms and tried to focus somewhere on Anya's forehead, recalling the odd sensation akin to suffocating direct eye contact with her produced at such close range.

His aggravation turned into confusion when Anya began looking all around her, as if she was searching for something.

"Oh - you're talking to me?" she finally asked him, her words bloated with sarcasm. She hit him with the most venomous scowl he'd seen yet. "So I haven't been invisible this whole time? Are you sure, Dimitri?"

Dimitri frowned down at her, now just as confused as he was angry. "What are you talking about?" He kept his voice as low as he could but couldn't keep from gritting his teeth hard enough to feel his jaw pop. He should try harder to stay calm. This could get out of hand if he couldn't keep it together. He took a deep breath to keep from shaking her.

Anya said nothing, only pursed her lips and watched him through slitted eyes.

"Well?" Dimitri prompted. When she still said nothing, he threw his hands up in exasperation. "You plan on spitting it out sometime today?"

"Oh, now you want to include me in your conversation?"

"What?"

"I can't think of one I've been a part of lately," Anya ground out. "Can you?"

Dimitri's scowl deepened. So that's what this was about? She was pouting because her feelings were hurt by some imaginary slight? "Anya, you're insane. We never intentionally excluded you from a conversation - "

"Bullshit." Anya made a quick move to brush past him, but Dimitri blocked her with his shoulder. He couldn't risk touching her anywhere with his hands. Not after what had happened to him last time.

"No, this is bullshit," he shot back as she stumbled backward again, her face contorted into a picture of disbelief. Her lips thinned. Dimitri didn't back down. "Don't run. You obviously have something to say; stop being a pussy and say it."

Anya didn't speak, but her cheeks turned ruddy just before she tried to rush him again. Dimitri could have blocked her as easily as the first time, but elected to knock the bundle of firewood she was carrying to the ground for emphasis. This argument would be on his terms for once.

He almost regretted it when he saw how quickly her eyes changed from the dusky blue of open sea to that of the purest, hottest flame. Although he would never admit it to anyone, Dimitri wondered for a fleeting second if he should fear for his life.

Anya stood unnaturally still as she turned her gaze from Dimitri to the firewood now scattered at her feet. She squeezed her eyes closed, her hands balled into little fists. After a long moment, she spoke so softly Dimitri had to strain to hear her.

"You have no idea how hard I'm trying not to kill you right now."

Dimitri snorted, taking a step away from her just in case. " _Please._  For what? Neither Vlad nor I have done anything to you except save you from what would have been a really bad situation. I still don't understand what the problem is -"

"You talk about me like I'm not even there, Dimitri!" Anya exploded. "You and Vlad sit there day after day, planning my goddamn life, and don't ask me shit -"

"That's because you don't  _know_  shit!" Dimitri returned with the same heat. So much for diplomacy. "What did you expect us to do? Ask for your advice? If we could borrow some money? I can tell just by looking at you that not only have you probably never seen more than twenty  _rubles_  at one time in your life, you couldn't find your way out of the city if somebody paid you, let alone get into another country. Vlad and I had it covered."

Anya's silence felt heavy as lead. Dimitri could see her legs shaking. His fists clenched and unclenched inside his jacket. Her rage seemed to be a reflection of his own and Dimitri fed off what she was projecting, blood thrumming in his temples.

Her eyes gleamed as her nostrils flared. "Go to hell, Dimitri."

Dimitri flashed her a sinister grin. "Ladies first."

A high-pitched screech, so sudden it made Dimitri jump, ripped from Anya's throat. Instinct alone made him duck just in time to avoid the tree branch she lobbed at his head.

And the next one.

And the one after that.

"You are the most disgusting -"

" - Anya, stop!"

" - selfish, smug bastard - "

Anya continued her relentless assault as he scrambled for cover, yelling some of the most creative curses he'd ever heard while flinging anything she could get her hands on at him once she ran out of sticks. He couldn't get anywhere near her for the flying debris, but when a chunk of dirty ice bounced off his cheek, Dimitri lunged forward with a roar and tackled her, forcing her to stagger backward until her back hit the trunk of a nearby pine.

She let out a sharp squeak of surprise, then immediately began to struggle. Dimitri grabbed her wrists and forced them over her head. He anticipated her attempt to use her knees against him and leaned into her with his full body weight to still any further movement.

His fury evaporated when he became aware of the thrust of her chest against his with every rapid breath she gulped down, the sharp points of her hip bones pressing into him through their clothes. It was as if he could feel every hard angle of Anya's body - he could hardly call them curves - like there was no fabric between them.

Anya stilled as Dimitri panted into the tree bark, next to her ear. The heat from her flushed cheeks burned against the flesh of his neck. She inexplicably smelled of wet earth and strawberries.

He could do nothing to stop the trembling that took over as the spark he'd felt before returned, this time an inferno that flared through his veins. Dimitri was so shaken he was almost afraid to look at her, but he forced himself to draw back and peer at her face. Anya's hands gradually relaxed in his hold. Her gloved fingers curled toward him as if in surrender. She wet her parted lips and stared back at him, unblinking and unnerving.

Her arms still held high above her head, Anya grunted and tried to move her legs again. Dimitri instinctively pressed his body more firmly against hers, anchoring her to the tree with his hips, just as her eyes fluttered closed and she -

But no, she couldn't have. That couldn't have been a whimper he heard. Could it?

He may have imagined it in his half-aroused, half-horrified state. But even if the keening sound was just in his mind, the possibility alone nearly made him groan out loud.

They were both filthy, and he was freezing, but an even colder chill blasted through him with the knowledge that he could take this bony, foul-mouthed orphan right now, up against this tree or on the ground amongst the dead leaves, without a second thought.

Dimitri blinked. He  _wanted_ her.

Jesus, how was that even possible? Aside from the fact that he preferred his women much older than himself and with a lot more meat on their bones, Anya was just...Anya, for god's sake. Childish and aggravating, with about as much sex appeal as a snot-nosed kid sister with measles.

The distinct tingling in his balls seemed at odds with that school of thought.

Oh, God.

Anya made what felt like a last-ditch effort to yank her hands free of Dimitri's, but he only gripped her wrists tighter. But not too tight. He didn't want to break her.

The strange light that entered her eyes caught him by surprise. He was used to seeing nothing there for him but contempt whenever he dared to look.

"Dimitri, let me go." Her voice, barely a whisper, sounded strained. He still stood close enough to feel her words on his lips.

"You sure you're done with all the crazy?"

She nodded a little too eagerly, eyes like saucers. Dimitri's brows lowered when he noticed she was looking past him, over his shoulder.

He gave her a puzzled look. "What -" Then he heard, of all things...snuffling.

Dimitri loosened his grip on Anya and half-turned, as slowly as he could. And when he saw what was nosing around a stand of trees a few yards away, he wished he had never looked.


	16. Fork in the Road: Part 2

Dimitri whipped around to face Anya, his trembling now far removed from the desire he felt a moment ago. He let go of her wrists.

"I think we should run," Anya said in a halting whisper. She brought her hands down to her chest to nestle between them, her mouth almost brushing his as she turned to peek over his other shoulder. Dimitri was too distracted by his own terror to notice.

"No," he whispered back. "It'll chase us if we startle it. There's a cub with it."

Anya stared up at him, eyebrows raised high. "She's more worried about her baby than us. If we run in the opposite direction - "

Dimitri interrupted with a violent head shake. " _No._  We stay right where we are until it goes away."

Anya set her jaw. "I think we can make it."

"Are you crazy?" Dimitri hissed. "What if it thinks we're a threat? Do you honestly think we can outrun a fucking  _bear_ -"

" _Shh!_ " Dimitri jumped when Anya clamped a hand down on his shoulder and dug in hard with her nails.

"What? What's happening?" He watched the scene behind him in Anya's wide eyes, his guts twisted into knots.

She gasped. Dimitri grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Anya,  _what!_ "

"The baby...it's coming over here." The snuffling became louder, punctuated by small snorting sounds.

Anya's eyes got even wider, if that were possible. A curse escaped her clenched teeth as Dimitri felt a gentle tug on his pant leg.

It took every ounce of willpower he had not to screech like a little girl. He stood frozen, matching Anya curse for curse as the tugging became more insistent.

They were blocked in on Dimitri's right by a thick stand of prickly bushes, but he could see a clear path through the trees a few feet down to his left.

His leg began to jerk away from his body as the curious bear cub began to gnaw on the hem.

Anya's entire body shook against him. Dimitri swallowed hard and tried to get a grip before he got them both mauled to death. He lowered his mouth to Anya's ear. "Move to your right - very slowly."

Anya nodded and did as she was told. Dimitri mirrored her movements, praying the cub would lose interest and go back to its mother, who was still sniffing around the brush only a few dangerous feet behind them.

The cub followed him with a playful growl, a sharp tooth caught in the fabric of Dimitri's pants. Anya answered the unspoken command in his grip and shuffled faster. Dimitri felt more than heard his pants leg rip.

A growl floated over Dimitri's shoulder, and he could feel the ground tremble with the vibration of it. Anya went still as a corpse and released a horrible little shriek right in his ear. Dimitri winced even as his breath stopped coming altogether.

His fingers dug into the flesh of Anya's upper arms, his chest still pressed against her even though her back was now free of the tree.

The growl came again. Much closer this time.

Dimitri squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that if death came, it did so quickly.

A tense silence stretched on. Dimitri dared to open his eyes, only to see Anya's mouth widen with a scream in what felt like slow motion. Then she turned in his hold, too suddenly for Dimitri to let her go in time.

He couldn't catch her when she fell. Since she had been the only thing keeping him upright, with one leg being yanked sideways and behind him, Dimitri followed her to the ground.

The impact ripped Dimitri's pant leg free of the bear cub's mouth, and it let out a petulant wail.

Dimitri knew they were dead now.

The maternal growl they heard before transformed into a roar that made Dimitri scramble to his feet, yanking Anya up after him.

"RUN!"

Anya screamed like she was being butchered and took off through the trees. Dimitri stumbled after her in a zigzag path, lungs burning from exertion and the constant intake of cold air.

He swore he could hear the heavy thumps of the bear's huge paws pounding the packed earth behind him, each labored breath bursting from its mouth, and he thought his heart might punch a hole through his chest.

All sense of time vanished. He could have been running for hours, for days. His whole existence became the inhaling and exhaling, the frantic pumping of his arms and legs, the straining to catch a flash of Anya's coat through the spaces between the trees.

Then Dimitri noticed he couldn't hear the galloping anymore.

He couldn't take the chance of turning around just to see a bear paw flying at his face. He forced his legs to keep moving, until Anya came back into view.

"The tree!" He pointed at the huge evergreen ahead of her with the low branches. "Climb it!"

Anya stumbled to a stop, doubling over at the tree's thick trunk. When she stood upright, he could see her incredulous look despite her distance. "Bears can climb trees, too, you idiot!"

"Just climb the goddamn tree!"

By the time Dimitri reached her, Anya was already perched high above the ground, breathing hard and peering through the tangle of bare branches for signs of a chase.

"Do you see it?" he managed between wheezes for breath as he struggled to hoist himself onto the lowest branch. He turned his head to squint up at Anya.

He raised an eyebrow when she hopped down to meet him with as much effort as it would take to step off a curb. "No," she said, "I think it's gone."

Dimitri went limp with relief and let himself dangle from his middle like a worm on a stick, chest heaving. Pulling his legs up was no easy feat, and he realized he'd surely plummet to the ground and break his neck if tried to stand up on the narrow branch. He steadied himself on on his hands and knees instead, wincing as the hard bark dug into his kneecaps and palms.

A sharp giggle brought his head up.

Anya was watching him mince toward her, her legs crossed at the ankles and a hand clamped over her mouth.

He stopped, anger flaring hot beneath his jacket. Did he miss something? Hadn't he almost died here?

"I don't see what the hell is funny - "

She burst out laughing. "If you could...see what you...look like..." she said as she gasped for air, clutching her stomach and sinking into a squat. She laughed until Dimitri caught the sparkle of tears streaming from her eyes.

It could have been nerves, but Dimitri became infected with the same ridiculous humor. A chuckle bubbled out of him, and once he started he couldn't stop.

"This isn't funny!" he yelled, which only made Anya laugh so hard she keeled over onto her side. Dimitri gave in and howled with laughter himself, until his sides became sore and he couldn't take in a breath without choking.

When her coughing subsided, Anya propped herself up against the tree trunk, still chuckling. Dimitri tried to catch his breath again as he lay flat on his stomach, his arms and legs dangling uselessly on either side of the branch.

The fear had dissipated, taking with it the tension that had only grown since the day they met, stretching between them like a taught cord always at the breaking point. The silence that settled in its wake felt heavy, yet strangely comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Anya's had relaxed her shoulders and stretched one leg out in front of her. She let her head fall to the side. A warmth radiated from her, reaching out for him. She grinned as she met his eyes and for once, she didn't frown or glare or look away.

Dimitri did. He had to. The cease-fire between them was only as strong as his resolve to keep his distance. He couldn't afford to allow that smile to make him forget.

Anya was not his business partner.

She was not his lover.

And she sure as hell would never be his friend.


	17. Luck Be A Lady: Part 1

Anya dropped to her knees in relief at the first glimpse of light twinkling through the trees in the distance.

Lights meant civilization. Civilization meant a place to lay her head that wasn't made from dead leaves that smelled faintly of animal piss.

Most of all, civilization meant real food, something neither Anya nor her bone-weary companions had seen since they'd left that nameless village. And even that hardly made a blip on the satisfaction scale in taste or quantity.

A clump of felled trees had made the only westward road from the village impassable, turning their planned 25 kilometer trek into four hellish days of wandering in the wilderness.

Pooka disappeared that first day. After hours of searching, the three of them returned to their makeshift camp that night with the pup - and a mysterious rash that had them each scratching hard enough to draw blood.

When they were starving the next morning, Dimitri got the bright idea to eat their way through a thick patch of mushrooms they stumbled upon in a clearing.

"They're not poisonous," Dimitri had said in response to Vladimir and Anya's dubious expressions. "I've seen this kind before. They grow wild in the woods outside St. Petersburg, too."

Anya's hunger proved stronger than her doubts. She gobbled mushrooms by the handful before she could stop herself, not even pausing long enough to brush off the moist soil. They tasted like dirty air, but it was only a matter of minutes before they had demolished an area large enough to feed a small deer.

The violent stomach cramps and nausea that kicked in soon after lasted much longer than the mushrooms did.

"Dimitri," Anya had gasped, clutching her stomach as she and Vladimir writhed on the forest floor in agony, "if we live through this, remind me to kill you." But Dimitri was too busy vomiting into the nearby bushes to toss back a snide response.

It took them another day and a half to recover enough for walking again, this time on legs that were decidedly less steady. When the queasiness subsided, Anya couldn't remember her stomach ever feeling emptier; the hunger pangs felt more like knife stabs in the gut. Dimitri's cheekbones already seemed more prominent, and even Vladimir was looking slimmer around the jowls and belly.

She hadn't been a picture of feminine vitality before their ordeal, so Anya was grateful there weren't any mirrors around to show her just how wretched she looked.

Not that she had anyone to impress.

No one spoke as they made their way at a snail's pace through the thick underbrush, each trying to conserve what little energy remained and praying they were at least stumbling in the right direction.

On the fourth day, a miracle: they discovered they had been ambling through the woods more or less parallel to the main dirt path.

"Please, God...tell me this is Ludza." Anya lifted her heavy head to find Dimitri at her side, doubled over with his hands braced on his knees.

After their adventure in the tree, she thought they'd finally chipped away enough at the wall between them to come to a friendly understanding, but Anya hadn't missed the fact that Dimitri had been avoiding eye contact with her ever since.

It stung a little - more than a little, if she was being honest - but she'd shrugged it off. He'd made it clear that his friendship was not a prerequisite for Paris, and Paris was all that mattered, after all.

She mentally kicked herself, dragging her wayward thoughts back where they needed to be. Her quest did not require Dimitri's friendship - or anything else, for that matter. Just her commitment, her grit. Things she could always rely on.

It was focus she lacked at the moment, so Anya took a deeper breath than she needed to, only to catch Dimitri's glance when she moved to stand. He held her gaze, then bent his head in such a way that a crystalline swath of sunlight made his eyes glow like burnished copper.

Nothing could have prepared Anya for the sudden upswing in her heartbeat; she had to brace herself against toppling over with a palm flat on the ground. She recoiled to hide her reaction, but Dimitri's attention was already refocused on Vladimir as he waddled up behind them with their remaining luggage.

"If this is not Ludza," Vladimir grunted, tucking Pooka more securely inside his coat as he maneuvered around them, "it will be today."

Anya would have been willing to share a mudhole with a herd of wild boar if it meant leaving the countless horrors of the forest behind. To that end, she shuffled to her feet and followed her party to the fringe of town.

The treeline met its gradual end in the wild tangle of an unfenced back yard, where the towering pines dwindled in size before disappearing in favor of unkempt grasses and weeds. The moss-covered shack on the property looked like it had been birthed by nature straight from the verdant landscape.

Anya jumped when an owl hooted at their passing from its perch in one of the windows. The innards of the long-abandoned home yawned dark and unsettling beyond the sill. What remained of the windowpanes looked like translucent, broken teeth, sharp and gleaming.

Shivering, Anya hugged her arms and tiptoed along behind Dimitri, fighting every ridiculous impulse to grab his arm and cling to his side. She didn't need him to protect her.

Low clouds dark as gunmetal misted them with a cold drizzle as they emerged onto a wide road that led them westward. Frowning, Anya eyed the neat, bricked-in gardens of the homes arranged in a row on either side of the curving gravel path. The little houses were clearly occupied, but not a single person seemed to be home.

She was beginning to despair that the place was a ghost town when she caught a whiff of something incredible and stopped dead.

"Do you smell that?" she asked, but she already knew the answer. Both Dimitri and Vladmimir had stopped walking, eyes closed, sniffing at the wind like hound dogs.

A grin flashed from within Vladimir's overgrown whiskers. "Someone is cooking dinner."

Anya smiled for the first time in days. At this point, she didn't care if that someone was roasting rats over an open flame. "Let's go see if we can convince them to share."

The scent grew more pronounced as they entered the center of town, where it became clear what had happened to all the residents.

A clutch of townspeople hovered around the open door of a squat building set apart from the other businesses. Tussles for a peek at the action broke out here and there, and whenever muffled noises leaked out into the evening air, members of the group would cheer or boo in response. There seemed to be standing room only for whatever excitement was going on inside. Pushing through the overflow crowd garnered all three of them more than a few curses and shoves, as no one took kindly to being displaced.

They stumbled through the doorway of the pub one after the other at last, the filth clinging to them from head to toe drawing concerned looks from some in the throng milling around indoors.

Anya didn't notice. The undiluted aroma of roasting meat wafting from somewhere in the rear of the room made her weak in the knees. "Please tell me we have enough money for food, Dimitri."

When he didn't respond, she turned to find him engaged in a spirited conversation with the wiry barkeep across the way, a frown etched deep in Dimitri's brow. The man dried a glass with a towel, unmoved by whatever Dimitri was saying. In the corner near the door, Vladmir seemed to be having a less tense exchange with one of the spectators.

Anya gave him a questioning look as threaded his way through the crush of people back to her side.

"It seems this is a card tournament they hold every year. There is a lot of money on the table tonight."

Anya nodded, half listening, more concerned with the fact that they were still standing around with no food in their mouths. Dimitri returned then, hands stuffed into his pockets.

Anya did not like the grim look on his face. "What's wrong? Are they out of food?"

Dimitri shook his head. "Nearly everyone here speaks Russian, but the house won't take  _rubles._ "

"What?" Anya's stomach clenched painfully at the news. She scowled. "You can't be serious."

Dimitri shrugged. "Looks like we might be eating more mushrooms tonight." His wry smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Anya covered her face with her hands, a groan of frustration rumbling in her throat as she spun away from him. She ignored the strange looks from bystanders and let her eyes roam the room, trying to give herself time to think. Thank God the door was left open for the cold breeze to cool the exposed skin of her neck. Any warmer in here and she'd probably pass out.

She could make out a man with arms as thick as young tree trunks hunched over a wooden table in the room's center. He suddenly guffawed and slapped down a palm full of cards, triggering a deafening reaction from everyone around them.

There were too many people blocking Anya's view to identify the card game, but her eyes widened when she glimpsed the messy pile of local currency in the center of the table.

"Vlad," Anya asked, her gaze glued to the coins gleaming dully in the lamplight overhead, "what are they playing?

Vladimir shifted closer to speak into her ear. "The gentleman said they were playing  _dubinka_. The next round will be the the last in the tournament."

Every last hair on Anya's body stood at attention. She knew that game. More than that, she was exceptional at it. "Is there a buy-in?"

Vladimir fell silent and Anya regarded him just in time to catch his quizzical look. "I...do not believe so. Why -"

"I'm going to win us dinner."

Anya turned her glare on Dimitri when he burst out laughing. Her jaw clenched. "I'm sorry, did I say something funny?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, still chuckling. "Definitely. Funniest thing I've heard all day, in fact, because you are not about to gamble money you don't have with a bunch of hoodlums who look like they eat girls like you for breakfast." He nodded in the direction of the table. "Actually, make that breakfast, lunch and dinner - plus a midnight snack for the hell of it." He shook his head and said, "The smallest guy in that group could snap your skinny ass in half with one hand, Anya. No, absolutely not."

It was tempting to allow herself to be warmed by what almost passed for real concern, but nothing irritated Anya more quickly than being told "no".

Instead, she flashed Dimitri her sweetest smile. "That's adorable. You actually think you can stop me from doing it."

Another cheer from the crowd made her want to cover her ears. Dimitri stepped in front of her, once again the lanky mountain that would not be moved. Anya decided she didn't have the energy to be baited into another argument.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Move, Dimitri."

Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest, trying to stand his ground against Anya and the people jostling them on every side. "You're not doing this."

"You have any other ideas?" Anya demanded, throwing her hands up.

He frowned down at her. "Not at the moment, but I think on my feet."

Right now, Dimitri was literally standing between Anya and her next meal, and it was starting to make her a bit homicidal. She ground out, "You know why you can't think right now? Because you need to eat. I can do that, okay? I can get us food."

"Are you really willing to get us all killed just to prove a point? What happens to us when you lose? "

Anya couldn't think about that. "I won't."

Dimitri set his jaw, but Anya could see his conviction starting to waver. She was counting on the same hunger that drove her to take action to make him weak enough to push aside if she had to.

"I'm putting my foot down, Anya."

Anya mirrored his stance. "Well, either it's going get stepped on or you're going to get knocked over the head with a bottle. Doesn't matter to me. Either way, it means more food for me and Vlad. So, are you gonna move, or what?"

Dimitri stared for a moment longer, then heaved a sigh and stepped aside to let Anya brush by him.

The starvation that set Anya's throat and stomach on fire fortified her against the trembling that took hold when she reached the table. Every mouth went silent at once, like a great bellows had sucked the sound right out of the room. Everyone - from the boy sweeping out the kitchen near the back to the half-dressed barmaids sloshing drinks into one hand after another - focused on Anya.

Anya wasn't concerned about them. As she assessed the seated players, she worried that Dimitri had a point.

A man with a wide scar that slashed across his face licked his lips, staring at her like she was a plate full of fat potato  _pirozkhi._  She swallowed hard and tried not to blink. "You speak Russian?"

Scar Face nodded, never breaking eye contact.

Anya squared her shoulders. "I want in."

He snorted, then wiped his nose on the back of his hand, leaving a thin, shiny trail of mucus behind. Anya's stomach turned.

"The women no play." In one glance, Scar Face's hooded eyes took her in from head to toe. "No little girls, either," he added with a sneer.

Anya didn't move. As long as she clenched her hands into fists, she could control their shaking. No matter what, she could not show weakness - to this brute, or to Dimitri.

"Why not? You afraid to get beaten by one?"

Chuckles and surprised gasps rippled through the masses like a gust of wind through a wheat field.

Scar Face smiled, and Anya got distracted by all the broken teeth. "Watch and see how quickly you beaten. Then you lose, too. And then you go fetch my beer." More laughs.

Straining to keep her expression neutral in the face of the chauvinistic remark, Anya hung back and watched Scar Face win the current round with little effort. She spied Dimitri and Vladimir on the front lines of the excited assembly, standing behind a defeated opponent-turned-observer still seated at the opposite end of the table. Anya gulped and turned to Scar Face again.

"You've had your fun. Now deal."

Smirking and shaking his head, he raised an eyebrow at the man lounging in the chair to Anya's right, who jumped up and vacated the seat like it caught fire. Anya slid into his spot and prayed she wasn't being as stupid as Dimitri thought she was.

Scar Face shuffled and dealt the cards with deft hands, and thirty minutes later, the other five active players in the round had bowed out.

It was down to Anya and Scar Face. She fought to keep a good grip on the playing cards that slid around against her sweat-slickened palms. If the cards her opponent put down next were worth more than 21 points or the value she clutched in her own hands, Anya would win it all.

If they weren't, she'd have to pay up - likely with broken legs. Or worse.

It became harder to breathe with every inhale. The sweltering air staled by the exhaust of so many strangers didn't help. Anya licked the sweat gathering on her upper lip and watched the opposition.

Scar Face puckered his lips at her and tossed out his cards. 24 points. Everyone around them froze, all eyes shifting as one to watch Anya's next move.

Anya released the breath she'd been holding, her body tingling all over, the grin that spread across her face making her cheeks ache. She displayed her hand on the table, one deliberate card at a time.

All 19 points.

Scar Face's ruined lip drooped in disbelief as the crowd erupted in cheers. Anya watched a laughing Vladimir slap Dimitri on the back. She stuck her tongue out at Dimitri and he grinned back at her, shaking his head.

"Cheer up," Anya told Scar Face then, reaching out with both hands to scoop the cash pile toward her end of the table. "At least we weren't playing for clothes."

He got up and stalked away, quickly replaced by the ecstatic people clamoring to pat Anya on the back and shoulders to offer their congratulations. There was so much money in front of her, it would take a good half hour to count it all. It was enough to keep them fed for weeks.

Anya couldn't help herself. She rode the wave of victory right onto the tabletop, standing up to be seen by the smiling crowd, and yelled at the top of her lungs:

"Next round of drinks are on me!"

Her voice was instantly drowned out by the resulting roar of appreciation.


	18. Luck Be A Lady: Part 2

"So, Dimitri," Anya asked around a mouthful of roasted chicken thigh, "do you believe me now?"

Across their tiny table crammed against the wall, Dimitri grunted and ripped another chunk off his chicken leg with his teeth. He held up a finger to indicate Anya would have to wait for a verbal response.

Anya turned with a roll of her eyes to Vladimir, who'd squeezed his chair between them.

He heaved a contented sigh and tossed another chicken bone onto the growing pile in the center of the table. "We never stopped believing, Your Grace," he said, and winked at her.

Anya bestowed what she hoped passed for a royal nod and drained her mug, humming with pleasure. The warm beer had all the effervescence of a stagnant pond, but right now, everything tasted like victory.

"Speak for yourself." Dimitri sucked the last traces of grease from his long fingers and he, too, sat back with a satisfied groan.

"I think the chickens speak for everybody," Anya said, sweeping her arm over the decimated carcasses of six whole birds. She narrowed her eyes at Dimitri but couldn't muster much more than smug vindication. Rescuing them from the brink of starvation was something she could hold over his head forever, however long that was to be.

Dimitri had the grace to concede. "Fine, fine. I guess the proof is in the pudding - or the chickens, in this case."

"And the potatoes, and the cabbage, and the bread." Anya smirked and rubbed her overstuffed belly.

"And the drinks!" Vladimir toasted Anya with his third round since they began their meal, making her laugh aloud. Craggy brows slammed down over his eyes. "Speaking of drinks - where in God's name is the vodka?"

Anya shook her head in amusement. "Are you drunk on the beer already? We never ordered any." A stiff drink had been the last thing on Anya's mind. The town's water quality was questionable at best, making beer a necessity. They'd been able to keep their food down thus far and she didn't want to tempt fate.

"My dear, there is no such thing as a celebration without vodka." Vladimir's voice rang with conviction as he gestured at the barkeep for their best bottle.

"Vlad has a point." Anya looked up and got caught in Dimitri's intense gaze. "We  _are_  celebrating, right?"

He stared so long Anya could no longer assume a comfortable position in the hard wooden chair. She glanced away, brought her mug to her lips only to remember it was empty, then placed it back on the table. The warmth of the room went from cozy to stifling in a matter of seconds, which shouldn't have been possible seated so far from the hearth.

Anya could feel Dimitri's eyes as if he'd reached out and stroked her. To distract herself, she fed little scraps of chicken to Pooka under the table, who snoozed off and on atop Vladimir's knee.

When the liquor arrived, Vladimir happily set to work sloshing the clear liquid into each of the accompanying glasses. " _Zdorov'ya_ ," he said with a brief raise of his drink, then gulped his down before Anya or Dimitri could bring theirs to their lips.

The desperately attentive barmaid lingered, perhaps lured by the glut of cash she knew they'd hidden away between the three of them. She smiled sweetly at Vladimir and left her hand on his shoulder much longer than was appropriate. He didn't seem to mind.

"Anything else I get for you?" she asked in broken Russian, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder. Despite a childhood clearly not far behind her, her very grownup breasts were in danger of tumbling out of her top into Vladimir's face.

Anya tried to gauge Dimitri's reaction to the barmaid's performance beneath her lashes, though it annoyed her to feel the need to do so. She found his searing look right where she'd left it.

She hoped the flame the liquor lit in her chest would numb her enough not to care.

Vladimir took the girl's bait without hesitation and grabbed her around the waist. She squealed in mock outrage but made no attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. With a guffaw, he took two more shots in her honor, then whispered something in her ear.

When she blushed and gave Vladimir's arm a playful swat, Anya caught Dimitri's head shake and fond smile out of the corner of her eye.

"Shall I watch Pooka tonight?" Vladimir stood with the yawning puppy and faced Anya with questioning eyes. Anya gave him a crooked smile and nodded, shooing him with both hands. He beamed at her and let the giggling barmaid lead him away to the rooms for rent lining the hall beyond the kitchen. "Just don't let him see anything that'll scar him for life!" Anya called after them.

After the couple disappeared, Anya dared to look Dimitri in the eye. A grin flirted with his sculpted lips.

They burst out laughing at the same time.

Anya felt the shift, the change in the few inches of space separating her from Dimitri. The now-familiar charge felt foreign in the absence of fear for their lives or Vladimir - hell, even Pooka - acting as a distracting buffer.

For all the boisterous bar patrons still crowding the tables around them, they were alone.

This combined with the heat - in the room, in her alcohol-laced blood, in Dimitri's stare - made for an unsettling situation indeed.

They fell into an electric silence once their laughter faded. Anya crimped the corners of her mouth into a tight smile. "Is he usually like that?"

Dimitri chuckled and took another drink, finally breaking his optical stranglehold. Anya breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, yes. Nothing Vlad likes more than a pretty girl. Except maybe the vodka." He cast an amused glance down the now-infamous hallway. His voice resonant with affection, Dimitri added, "He's in his element tonight."

Anya mentally slapped away the picture of what could be transpiring behind Vladimir's locked door. And the sting of Dimitri calling that pudgy twit pretty.

"Another?" Dimitri held the bottle aloft above Anya's glass. The provocation in his expression made her nod in agreement.

Dimitri threw back his vodka without so much as a grimace and took up his vigil once more.

"Okay." Anya put down her glass and crossed her arms over her chest. "Honestly, Dimitri, a picture will last longer."

His forehead crinkled. "What?"

"What the hell are you staring at?"

His mouth quirked again. "Sorry. Just wondering what they teach you in those orphanages. I'm guessing that's where you learned to play cards so well, right?" Something about the way he wet his lips made Anya want to clamp her legs together to relieve the swelling pressure down there.

"I learned plenty of things," she said in retort, surprising herself with her boldness. She sucked down the shot as her arms and legs became deliciously heavy. God, it was hot. She tugged off her coat and let it flop over the back of her chair.

Dimitri's eyebrows shot up. "Really?" He laughed, refilling their glasses. "Do tell."

A loud cackle made Anya turn around, looking for the source of the noise. Realizing belatedly it had come from her own mouth, she frowned.

"Well?" Dimitri stretched one long leg out next to her chair.

Anya cleared her throat. "Um, let's see. Off the top of my head: how to pick a lock, how to take care of a pet rat.  _Dubinka_  you know. Checkers, drinking games - "

Dimitri snorted. " _Drinking games?_ "

"No one's beat me yet." It had only been sixteen-year-old Anya, her friend Irina, and a bottle of scotch stolen from Comrade Phlegmenkoff's office, but Dimitri didn't need to know that. "Wait a minute - back up. Was there a compliment in there somewhere?"

"You're hearing things." Dimitri's eyes sparkled in the dim light.

Anya planted both elbows on the table, grinning. "No...you said something about me learning to play cards 'so well'. Your words, not mine."

"Damn." Dimitri sighed. "I had hoped to get that one by you. Fine, Anya. After all this tonight - " he made a vague gesture above his head - "color me impressed."

"I'll drink to that." Anya held up her glass in salute and took another swallow of liquid fire.

"Hey, slow down," Dimitri warned, swiping the bottle from Anya's grasp when she reached for it. "That drinking game thing sounded like a challenge, and I don't want you soused just yet."

Anya scowled at him. "Who said I wanted to play with you?" When she lunged for the vodka again, he held it just out of reach.

"That's what you do with friends at a celebration. Did you miss that lesson at the orphanage?"

Anya somehow found that outrageously funny. "Is that what we are now? Friends?"

And there it was, out of nowhere, the smile she hadn't seen since Dimitri offered Anya a room of her own in the palace the day they met. She swayed in her seat, blinking at him. She didn't know what else to do with its effect all over her body at once, like a thunderclap beneath her skin.

"Whoa, whoa." Chuckling, Dimitri held up both hands. "Maybe 'friend' is too strong a word. Let's go with...amicable acquaintances for the time being."

He shrugged out of his vest and rolled up his sleeves. Anya couldn't tear her eyes away from the sinewy muscle carved into his forearms. How had she never noticed it before?

Oblivious to her distressed state, Dimitri kept the liquor flowing. He raised his eyebrows. "Well? You're supposed to be the expert here - what's the game?"

"Uh..." It took an enormous effort for Anya to recall what they had been discussing. Oh, yes - the one drinking game she'd ever played. "Okay. Truth or Truth. One person says something, the other person has to guess if it's true or not. If they guess right, the first person has to drink." Her brows knit. "Or maybe it was the other way around - "

"I think I got the gist of it, Anya." Dimitri's distressing smile turned wicked. "After you."

Anya studied her lap. Best to go with a safe subject. "I don't know how to swim."

His penetrating gaze swept over her for half a second. "That's true."

Anya's head shot up. "You sound awfully sure of yourself."

"Am I wrong?" His eyes danced.

Anya glared and took a swig that went down smoother than the last one. She let the fresh swell of heat flood her body and slouched deeper into her chair. "Your turn. And it better be good."

Dimitri pondered the aging wooden boards forming the low ceiling. "I...have never been arrested before."

Anya barked out a laugh. "I know that's a lie."

Dimitri gave her a slow, lazy smile and shook his head.

"Dammit!" Her hand came down and smacked the table. Palm stinging, she frowned at it as if it were an alien object, then pointed a finger at Dimitri. "You do realize this involves an honor system, right? You can't lie about not lying. It's uneth-ah...uneth..." She huffed, giving up trying to wrap her clumsy tongue around the word. "You can't do that."

Dimitri's eyes widened in mock outrage. "My goodness, what kind of scumbag do you take me for? I'm not lying! I've never been arrested in my life. Now stop being a sore loser and drink up."

Anya took yet another drink, wincing when a headache nailed her right between the eyes.

Dimitri clucked his tongue at her. "You sure you've played this before? You're pretty terrible."

"Be quiet, it's my turn." Anya squinted to make her eyes focus. "I...I don't know. Um...I don't like tea."

Dimitri scoffed. "Please. That's a lie. Everybody likes tea."

"HA!" Anya exclaimed loudly enough to make him jump. "You're wrong. I've hated tea forever." She threw her head back, laughing long and hard, and couldn't stop. "Vodka time!"

A troubled expression scrambled across Dimitri's features. "Fine." He drank his shot without breaking eye contact. "My turn. I..." he paused, his grin twisting into something dark and mischievous. "I have never had sex in a public place."

The laughter died in Anya's throat.

Eyes of the color of melted chocolate burned into her own. She felt the truth of his uninhibited statement in the heartbeat banging away at her temples.

Anya swallowed hard. "Where?"

She took in Dimitri's knowing look. "And you say I'm sure of myself."

"Just answer the question."

"Behind a little market, in an alley." He reached for the drink Anya had just poured. "She rather enjoyed it, if I remember correctly."

"Classy," Anya said, then hiccuped.

Dimitri shrugged. "Never been accused of that. Your turn."

"Okay," Anya said on a sigh. If she didn't get the upper hand - and quick - she'd be under the table soon. Time to fight fire with fire. "I've never seen a naked man."

Dimitri's eyes went round as saucers and he grinned full out. It felt like looking into the sun. "Finally, a good one," he said, rubbing his hands together. He peered into her face. "That's...a lie?"

"Nope!" Anya's glee bubbled out of her like an unstoppable spring.

After taking his punitive drink, Dimitri stared anew in shock. "Wait a minute, so you've never..." He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable for the first time since they started the game. "...you know."

Anya stared back, unblinking. She'd look like a happily puzzled doll if her dimple didn't flash and give away her suppressed mirth. She licked her lips. "Assume I don't. Never what?"

"You're really gonna make me say it." Dimitri glowered.

"Oh, are we shy all of a sudden? Say what?"

Dimitri's sneaky smile made an encore appearance. "You've never been with a man? Ever?"

"'Been with?'" Anya crinkled her nose and tried to look adorably confused. "I've been in the same room with man. And I've been alone with you before, although whether or not you're a man is still up for debate." Anya snickered. "Is that what you mean?"

Dimitri sent his eyes skyward in frustration. "You know what I mean, Anya. Are you saying... good God, that you're a  _virgin_?" He said the word like it was some kind of curse.

All the liquor coursing through Anya's system was the only thing keeping the mortification at bay. "I have never been with, under, on top of, or around a man in that way, no. And - " she added sharply " - as a Grand Duchess, I could have your head for even asking such an improper question."

"My apologies, Your Grace." Dimitri placed a hand on his chest and swept her an absurd seated bow. "But I will say this - may your first time be better than mine."

"Why do you say that?" Anya asked, distracted by the second Dimitri that had appeared next to the original.

"It was...awkward. That's all I'm going to say. But you deserve someone who will make your first time everything you girls dream about." He hit her with The Smile again. Anya weaved so hard she almost fell off the chair.

Catching herself, she coughed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Huh. I had no idea you were so charming."

"Yeah, well...you never deserved my charms before."

"I guess I can be a bitch sometimes."

Dimitri choked on the last of the vodka he drunk straight from the bottle. "Let's be clear," he laughed, "you said it, not me."

Anya's shoulders lifted in a shrug and she smiled until her cheeks ached, so warm she thought she must be glowing. "I might not know who I am, but I know who the hell I am."

Dimitri laughed again after wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He shook his head. "I must be drunk, because that somehow made perfect sense."

Tired of resisting, Anya allowed herself to fall prey to Dimitri's charisma. Each watched the other, the pulse and spark between them directly connected to the thick haze in Anya's brain and the blood pounding between her thighs.

She needed to get up. Right now. If she didn't, if she continued to sit and let Dimitri's eyes eat her up, there would be nothing he couldn't talk her into. The thought was too dangerous - and exciting - to contemplate.

Anya discovered her legs had turned into cast iron when she tried to swing them out from under the table. She moved to stand and the ground rushed up to meet her. "Oops." In that moment, Anya couldn't imagine anything more hilarious.

"Alright, Your Highness. Apparently you aren't walking anywhere." Anya's feet left the ground as Dimitri scooped her up from her hands and knees and carried her past the kitchen.

She'd paid up three rooms for the night. Dimitri kicked open the door to one two doors down from Vladimir's, which was mercifully quiet. He tottered a bit himself as he bore Anya's weight over the threshold. Anya tightened her arms around his neck and giggled against the heat of his smooth, tangy skin.

He dumped her limp form on the narrow bed shoved into a space slightly larger than a broom closet, not bothering to light the lamp on the single table. Anya moaned in protest at the abrupt release. She couldn't bear the thought of him leaving her alone in the dark.

"Stay," Anya said, her voice muffled by the pillow as she reached for his hand. The seduction of sleep grew stronger than the alcohol singing in her veins. Eyes closed, Anya heard Dimitri groan, felt the hesitation in his grip, but he didn't relinquish his hold on her fingertips.

"I shouldn't - "

"Please."

He cursed. "Jesus, you're a needy drunk," he said under his breath. "Scoot over." Anya wriggled backward until she hit the wall. Dimitri's shoes thumped onto the rotting floorboards one by one. The bed dipped and creaked precariously as he propped himself up against the makeshift headboard.

"Thank you," Anya murmured into the fabric of his shirt. She breathed his soft, earthy scent, like the forest after a hard rain.

"You owe me. Just don't drool on my shoulder, alright? Anya? Did you hear me?"

A deep, black sleep had already swept her away.


	19. Devil in the Details

Dimitri didn't sleep.

He wanted to, of course. Exhaustion made him ache all over, and his legendary ability to hold his liquor didn't make him immune to the drowsiness tugging his eyelids.

Still, no matter how long he stared into the room's black void, slumber never came for him.

Especially not after realizing the buzz in his bones had nothing to do with the vodka. His brain only registered Anya's sultry warmth, her little sighing breaths fanning his neck, her spindly limbs winding around his left side like a flesh-colored vine.

Dimitri had tried to get up. He really did. At least three or four times after Anya passed out, he'd attempted to extract himself from her grip and tiptoe to his own room. But Anya would always whimper, crumpling a fistful of his shirt, and clutch him even tighter.

Around midnight he gave up with a resentful sigh. Funny how someone vehemently averse to physical contact became clingy as hell while intoxicated.

With no expectation to nod off, Dimitri decided to focus his energy on corralling his thoughts, which kept wandering into places they shouldn't.

By dawn, he started to lose that battle, too.

Pale, languid fingers of morning light revealed Anya one feature at a time, from the dark hair splayed wildly across the pillow, to the thick fringe of lashes resting against her mud-smudged cheek, to the ripe fullness of her mouth.

Perhaps most disturbing, Dimitri could now see that Anya had managed to kick off the blanket he'd thrown over her for modesty's sake, rucking the hem of her grimy dress up to her thighs in the process. A rip in her stockings exposed enough creamy skin to make his palms sweat.

All of a sudden he could feel his heartbeat in his throat.

As more light trickled through the woefully inadequate window, Dimitri found himself tempted to entertain the fantasy that had been nibbling at his mind all night.

It would be so easy to pretend he wasn't desperate, that he didn't need to sell Anya to liberate himself from an existence he could no longer endure, that they were just a young man and a young woman and nothing else mattered.

So easy to reach around and grab her waist, to roll her beneath him, to settle between those long, long legs and show her exactly how good a morning could feel.

Dimitri squeezed his eyes shut.

Clearly he'd been so long without a woman he'd lost his mind.

He'd sworn them off prior to he and Vladimir putting their scheme into action, his ability to focus too vital. The pull of physical attraction he'd been feeling was due to months of self-imposed deprivation. Nothing else. And even if he had actual feelings for Anya - which was too absurd to consider - he knew the rules about getting involved.

You didn't.

So it didn't matter that he was even more impressed with Anya's performance the night before than he let on. Or that it felt more than right to have her so close now, her body heat making him sticky with sweat.

Or how, when she whined in her sleep and her nose grazed the shell of his ear, he turned hard as a brick.

He knew better. He knew where the lines were drawn.

Puppeteer and puppet.

Conman, mark.

You didn't cross them if you valued your life. And he did, more than anything.

Slamming the mental door on his madness, he tried to think of how good his _rubles_  would feel in the form of silk against his skin and fatty steak in his belly. Anya must have sensed something had changed; she groaned and flopped over to face the wall, her back to him.

Dimitri seized his chance at escape. He stumbled out of bed, snatching up his shoes and easing the door shut before Anya could roll over again.

The pub staff had put the place back in order after last night's festivities. Dimitri wound his way through the righted tables to get to Vladimir, whom he found seated near a window in the corner. He smirked at the steaming mug of black tea placed in front of an empty chair. Vladimir knew him well.

"I guess I don't have to ask how your night went," Dimitri said as he slid into the seat and took a tentative sip.

Vladimir bent down the corner of the newspaper he'd been reading to wink at Dimitri. "No, indeed. I believe the young lady is still sleeping. Very tired, you know."

Dimitri grimaced and reached for the pot of sugar. "Spare me the details."

Vladimir chuckled. "Do not ask if you do not wish to know." He rattled the paper as he turned the page.

"And I didn't because I don't," Dimitri said, shaking his head. He grunted with appreciation at the surprisingly delicious tea. Judging from what she said last night, Anya would hate it.

"What are you smiling about?" Vladimir folded the paper and placed it on the table, eyebrow raised in amusement.

Dimitri instantly wiped the grin off his face. "Nothing. So...what are we looking at as far as getting out of here is concerned?"

"The owner of this establishment informed me that the last bus for another month leaves in about one hour." Vladimir took a swig of his own hot drink.

Dimitri nodded. "So if we miss it, we'll be walking again."

"Correct."

Dimitri glanced at his watch. They barely had time for breakfast, and he really needed to get one more solid meal into Her Highness before they hit the road. Too many bones still showed through her skin for his taste. He couldn't present a well-dressed skeleton to the Dowager Empress.

Damn, he needed to buy her a dress, too -

"Did you sleep at all last night, Dimitri? You look like hell."

Dimitri gave his friend a sour look. "Thanks."

"And how about Anya? I imagine the two of you had quite a late night."

Not liking the twinkle in Vladimir's eye, Dimitri glared. "Do I look like I know how she slept?" Oh, Anya slept beautifully, he was sure, but he'd run out in the woods naked in a bee swarm before he'd tell Vladimir he knew that from firsthand observation. Dimitri would never hear the end of it.

Vladimir's lips twitched. "Don't you?"

"No, I don't," Dimitri said with heat and gulped the last of his tea. "Ask her yourself - if Her Majesty can be bothered with getting out of bed."

A disheveled Anya shuffled into the dining area some time later, the untied laces of her boots flapping about her ankles with every step. She'd finger-combed her hair into submission and scrubbed her face clean, but nothing could be done for the creases caused by sleeping face-down on the sheets.

She looked as pale as she did after her humiliating stomach upset on the train, alarming Dimitri enough not to take her to task for sleeping in. "Good morning, Your Grace." He used his foot to push a chair toward her.

Anya flinched, holding a palm to her forehead as she eased herself into the seat. "You don't have to scream at me, Dimitri."

Chuckling, Vladimir shook his head. "Are you alright, child?"

"Fantastic." Anya placed her elbows on the table and cradled her head in both hands. "But I'd be better if someone would call off the marching band inside my skull."

The intensity of the morning sun had grown in strength by then, drenching Anya in light the color of warm butter. Her eyes glimmered cobalt blue despite her overall sallowness.

Dimitri ignored the stirring they triggered in the pit of his stomach. "For someone who's supposed to be an old pro, you sure act like a lightweight."

"Funny thing is," Anya said on a wide yawn, dangling her arm off the edge of the table to let Pooka lick her fingers, "I can't remember going to bed at all." She turned to Dimitri, wide-eyed. "How'd I get to my room?"

Dimitri stiffened, especially when he realized Vladimir was staring as well. He shrugged. "I pushed you through the door before I went to bed myself across the hall." No way in hell would he tell her she practically slept in his arms all night and he'd been almost okay with it.

"Oh." Anya didn't question his answer. She propped her chin on the heel of her free hand and stared out the window to the road beyond. Dimitri avoided looking at Vladimir. He could sense his business partner didn't believe him, but at least he remained mute on the subject.

So Anya couldn't remember the more important bits of last night. Amidst the flood of relief, Dimitri felt a twinge of disappointment that the evening affected him so much more than it did her.

He cleared his throat. "You should probably eat something, Anya."

"Please." Anya groaned. "Don't say anything about food. Don't even think about food. I can't be held responsible for the consequences if you do."

Dimitri rolled his eyes. "At least drink something, then. The fluids will help."

When Anya didn't protest, Dimitri had the barkeep bring a pot of hot water and a mug filled with lemon slices. Anya poured the water with a trembling hand. It took some effort for Dimitri not to stare at her mouth when she pursed her lips and blew on the hot liquid.

Savoring it, she closed her eyes and sat back with a grateful moan. "That's wonderful. Thank you."

Dimitri's baser nature writhed at the sound, but Vladimir's low voice in his ear distracted him. "Dimitri, did you tell her - "

"No," Dimitri whispered quickly, knowing what Vladimir was asking. "Just a coincidence."

He'd gleaned that the Grand Duchess didn't like tea from his days in the palace kitchens; he knew tidbits like that would give them an edge over the competition for the reward money. Anya happening to dislike it was stroke of luck that worked in their favor.

Vladimir gave him a look but let the subject drop before leaving to procure food from the kitchen for their journey.

They hustled to the little station across town laden with bags stuffed with dried fruit and smoked fish and small loaves of dark rye, arriving in time to see the bus disappear around the bend in the road a quarter mile away.

"Godammit!" Dimitri dropped his burden where he stood and shoved both hands into his hair in exasperation.

"I was told the bus stops in each town overnight," Vladimir told Dimitri after digging out the map. "We should arrive in Strasburg by this evening if we leave now."

Anya put Pooka down and wandered over to the ditch to examine a stand of wildflowers poking through a patch of snow. She threw a questioning look at Dimitri over her shoulder. "So...what are we waiting for?"

Dimitri stopped glaring at the map and turned his furious gaze on her. "We were waiting for you all morning, which is why we missed the bus in the first place."

She stooped to pluck a bright pink flower and stood, tucking the bloom behind her ear. "So what? We're here now. We're on the road. Let's go."

Eyebrow raised, Dimitri said, "You're awfully unconcerned for someone who's about to walk " - he glanced at the map - "oh, I don't know,  _twenty miles_."

Anya only shrugged. "Not like it can be worse than the forest. At least we have an actual road this time." Out of nowhere, a grin exploded across her face. "Besides, who can feel bad when it's so pretty outside?" She spread her arms wide, face tilted toward the cloudless sky as she spun in a circle.

There was some truth to that. Winter still clung in snowy clumps to nearly every surface, but this side of the Russian border springtime seemed to have crept in while they slept, bursting forth in downy green buds everywhere Dimitri looked.

That didn't keep him from gaping at Anya in disbelief. He didn't know what surprised him more: that she hadn't complained about their circumstances for the first time since they met, or that watching her childish glee triggered that mysterious ache deep in his chest.

The sun had just begun to sink below the tips of the trees by the time they came upon a footbridge that traversed a brook, a perfect place to stop and take a much needed break. Feet throbbing, Dimitri almost collapsed with relief.

They made stools of their luggage under an arbor of naked oak branches and passed around the sacks of food. No one spoke, too content to enjoy the intermittent birdsong above them and to watch the gurgling brook meander its way to parts unknown. Dimitri kept an eye on Anya, making sure to pass her something else to munch on whenever she got down to crumbs. He needed to fatten her up quick.

After a while, Anya ambled down the hill and gathered young daises by the handful to braid a crown for each of her associates.

Dimitri made a face when she placed one on his head with a flourish. "Thanks, I guess."

She grinned. "It's an improvement, trust me."

Vladimir, evidently recovered from his recent coughing episode and thrilled with his handmade gift, took to humming and waltzing around in the road with Pooka.

Which was entertaining right up to the point he started singing about Sophie.

And before Dimitri could scramble to his feet to stem the dangerous flow of information pouring from Vladimir's lips in melodic form, he heard Anya ask, "Who's Sophie?"

Shit.

"Who's Sophie?" Vladimir repeated incredulously, dark eyes glowing behind his spectacles. "Why, she's a cup of hot chocolate after a long walk in the snow - a decadent pastry filled with whipped cream and laughter." He disregarded Dimitri's stealthy attempts to hush him, yanking his protege into a twirl then dipping him backwards, right over an amused Anya's lap.

She squinted down into Dimitri's face, lips turned up in a wry smile. "Is this a person or a cream puff?"

"She's the Empress' ravishing first cousin!" Vladimir exclaimed, pulling Dimitri upright again and releasing him so suddenly he tumbled to the ground.

Dimitri kept his back to Anya after getting to his feet, trying to hide the dismay he knew showed plain as day on his face. It would be only a matter of moments before Anya put two and two together and came for his jugular. God, he could punch Vladimir in his big mouth -

"I thought we were going to see the Empress herself...what does her cousin have to do with anything?"

Silence.

"Dimitri!"

It was a shame her quick mind turned out to be a double-edged sword.

Upon hearing the approaching storm in her voice, Dimitri whirled and said, "Well, no one gets near the Dowager Empress without convincing Sophie first."

Anya had already thrown up her hands and stalked away. "No, not me, no way, Dimitri. Nobody ever said I had to  _prove_  I was Anastasia!"

"Just - "

Anya turned and advanced on him this time, forcing him to take a few steps backward. "No, you want me to lie. You want me to stand there in this stupid dress - " she grabbed handfuls of shabby fabric to highlight her point - "and tell that lonely, sad old woman that I'm her long-lost granddaughter."

"It could be true - that's the point!"

With a noise of disgust, Anya turned on her heel. Dimitri grabbed her sleeve and spun her back around to face him. Anya snatched her arm away, seething.

He needed to crank the charm up to maximum levels. "Just listen to me, okay? I know this is...unexpected, but I didn't tell you because I figured this was something you had to see through to the end, no matter what." Dimitri blasted Anya with his patented schoolboy-sweet grin.

Anya opened her mouth with what was no doubt a searing remark then seemed to falter, blinking at him. Then her eyes turned hard. "Look at me, Dimitri. Really - get a good look. Take it all in." She held her arms out to either side of her body, her baggy sleeves drooping from her thin frame. "Do I look any more like a duchess than I did the day we met?"

Starting to feel faint as the anxiety thickened in his veins, Dimitri shook his head. "Don't worry about your clothes. We can fix that. You  _are_  Anastasia," he said, dropping his voice to an earnest murmur as he captured her hand in both of his. To his surprise, she didn't pull away. "You, the person. That's what matters. That's what I believe in, what Vlad believes in. But you gotta believe it yourself for this to work."

Vladimir sidled up to him, perfect timing as usual. "There's nothing left for you back there, my dear," the older man said with a bittersweet smile. "Everything is in Paris."

Anya looked away and Dimitri watched the internal battle play out on her face, still holding her hand. She gently drew back after a long moment to wrap her arms around herself.

When she met his eyes at last, what he saw in them felt like a dropkick to the diaphragm.

Anya trusted him. Wholeheartedly. It glowed like a beacon from her stare, but Dimitri couldn't understand why the rush of triumph he should have felt at bending her to his will never came. All he wanted to do now was crawl into the nearest dark hole to hide.

Dimitri hazarded a glance at his partner, who grinned at Anya like he'd just won the lottery. He clearly had no such qualms. Anya's tiny body nearly disappeared into Vladimir's embrace as his mentor told her, "You are an engaging and fiery young woman, one I have seen show a regal command equal to any royal in the world." He lifted her head with a finger under her chin and Anya offered him a nervous smile. "For you, this will be easy."

 _Easy,_  Dimitri thought scornfully, swallowing hard as his own smile turned brittle.  _Yeah, right._


	20. Unsafe

It was one thing to entertain the remote likelihood of being a Grand Duchess, and another to hope she was royalty. Trusting in the certainty that she was Anastasia, not only in her head but in her heart, instantly transformed Anya's murky future into a glorious vista of possibility.

She'd stared into Dimitri's eyes and had seen the princess she could become again: respected, adored, loved by a real family. The only things beyond food and shelter Anya could ever remember wanting. Things now so close she could taste them.

Anya had never understood nor had confidence in her companions' blind faith. But they'd kept their promise to break her out of Russia, bringing her infinitely closer to Paris than she would have gotten flying solo.

After all they'd been through together thus far, the pair had more than earned her trust.

She let Dimitri take the reins of her Romanov re-education. Her first lesson began before they'd even left the brook, with Dimitri and Vladimir demonstrating the proper form and pace of a royal stride.

It seemed easy enough, so Anya sashayed in their footsteps only to have Dimitri shake his head and pull her by her coat back to where she started.

"Keep your shoulders back," he said while standing behind her, hesitant hands pressing her shoulders together. "And don't sway your hips so much. Don't walk so much as float. Pretend you're walking on a cloud and you'll fall through if you let your foot come down too hard." The quick smirk Dimitri always had at the ready seemed stowed away for good. All business, he guided Anya's arms and legs with clinical precision, and a session she thought would take a few minutes at the most stretched on for hours.

Anya didn't complain. She no longer let herself question Dimitri's motives or his inexplicable intimate knowledge of royal behavior. It didn't matter. He was the teacher, Anya was the student, and she'd say and do what she was told. After all, obedience came more easily than ignoring the feel of Dimitri's fingers at the small of her back, or the brush of his lips on the back of her hand as he walked her through yet another curtsy.

She could only recall tidbits of their drunken night in Ludza, all of which were tangled in a web of sensation she could make little sense of.

Cool, smooth glass against her fingertips...Dimitri's throaty laughter...the leaden weight of her limbs...the hot dampness of skin against her own.

Anya studied the gravel between her feet as Dimitri corrected her posture again, hoping he couldn't see the fire burning in her cheeks. Nothing had happened between them. She knew that. The one clear recollection she had was of feeling wonderful and safe - and clothed - before falling asleep. It wasn't as if she'd wanted anything to happen, either. Still, waking up alone in that tiny bed affected her more than she cared to admit.

Anya made a face as Vladimir approached her with a bundle of sticks in his fist. "What's that for?"

"Balance, Your Grace." He bowed low, settling the small weight atop Anya's head.

Dimitri grunted in approval. "If you're not sore by the time we make it to the next town, you're not doing it right."

Anya turned to him in surprise, her movements slow so as not to disturb her burden. "You want me to do this the whole time? You do remember how far we still have to go, right?"

"What about it?" Dimitri's face remained impassive. "Your only concern right now is 'floating' down this road until I tell you to stop." He made a motion with his finger for her to turn around. Rolling her eyes, Anya swiveled on her heel to face forward again and whistled for Pooka to follow her.

As she eased down the rutted road for miles without dropping so much as a twig, Vladimir kept her entertained with anecdotes about distant branches of the Romanov family tree. His humor was the only thing keeping her going by the time they arrived at their destination hours later.

They made for the first building they came across on the outskirts of town, a ubiquitous pub. Anya and Dimitri collapsed into chairs at the closest table to the door, Pooka curling up at Anya's feet with a wide yawn. Vladimir conversed briefly with the grizzled gentleman behind the bar before joining them.

"The bus will be here overnight," he said, settling his girth into the chair next to Dimitri. "It will leave at first light. We should find a place to sleep for the evening."

Dimitri nodded, then raised an eyebrow at Anya. "You sore yet?"

Anya lifted her head from the back of her chair to throw him a dirty look. "What do you think?"

"That's good," Dimitri said, on a chuckle that sounded foreign to Anya's ears after a full day of his new, sober demeanor. "By tomorrow, it'll already be second nature."

"If you say so." She watched with alarm when Dimitri pulled a stained piece of paper from the pocket of his coat. "What are you doing?"

"About to ask the bartender for something to write with. You need to start memorizing the names of all these royalty. The sooner you - "

"No," Anya said, her objection underscored by an exaggerated head shake. She grimaced and rubbed at the stiff muscles in her neck. "I was done with today's lesson the second we hit that door." She jerked her thumb at the pub's entrance.

"You think the Dowager will care that you were too tired to remember who her mother was?"

"Right now, _I_  don't care. I need food, then a bed. You can teach me some more about my long lost past first thing in the morning."

Dimitri sighed, putting away the paper. He frowned his disapproval. "Don't think I'm going easy on you tomorrow. There's lots to teach you and not enough time to do it. We'll be in France soon and you need to know this stuff like the back of your hand."

"And I will, I promise." Anya leaned forward and pouted. "But your show pony is exhausted, Dimitri. Can't you feed and water and rest me first before you put me back out on the track?"

Dimitri laughed, a deep belly chuckle that made Anya insanely happy.

"Speaking of which," Vladimir said with a smile of his own, "here comes the food."

A middle-aged woman arrived carrying a tray with a meaty stew for each of them. Eyes cast down, she placed a serving with a spoon before Anya and Vladimir.

When she reached Dimitri she lost her grip, almost sending his bowl skidding off the table to the floor.

"Alexsei?"

Anya froze mid-chew. Three pairs of eyes widened at the waitress staring at Dimitri with tears streaming down her sagging cheeks.

Dimitri flashed Anya a worried look and she covered her smile with her spoon. Dimitri turned back to the dark-haired woman. "Um...who?"

She visibly trembled and pressed her fingers to her lips, her hands covered with the same flour and bits of dough that embellished her dirty apron. She brushed away a tear with her knuckle.

Dimitri cleared his throat. "I think you might have the wrong - "

The stranger launched herself at him, flinging her fleshy arms around his neck amidst an ecstatic string of the local language none of them could understand. Vladimir hid an amused snort behind a cough.

"Dimitri, aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?" Anya had a difficult time suppressing her giggles with her napkin.

He shot daggers at Anya over the woman's shoulder just before she drew back to kiss him on both cheeks. It became impossible for Anya to contain her laughter at that point. She'd never seen Dimitri blush before.

Exasperated, Dimitri gently held the woman off with both hands. "Do you speak Russian?"

Features twisted in confusion, she nodded.

"Good. I'm very sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not Alexsei."

She moved away, hand over her mouth. "Not...Alexsei? My nephew?"

"I'm sorry," Dimitri said. Anya had never seen a person look mortified and remorseful at the same time.

The waitress flushed crimson, wiping her hands on her apron with a shaky laugh. "I sorry...not see him since little boy." She smiled wistfully at Dimitri. "You have...such same face."

Even Dimitri's ears turned red.

"We are from St. Petersburg, madam." Vladimir leaned into the woman's view, breaking her eye contact with Dimitri. "Would you happen to know of any inns nearby where we could stay for the night? We would be most grateful."

Her face brightened. "No pay for that - inns no good here. My home. Work over soon. You come tonight?"

Dimitri looked panicked. "Oh, we couldn't impose - "

Anya interrupted Dimitri's protest with a kick to the shin. A free bed meant more money for food. Ignoring his glare, she gave the woman her most dazzling smile. "That's so generous of you."

"Good people; I know this." She beamed at Anya. "I am Inga." She turned to leave, but not before reaching over to pat Dimitri's cheek one last time. "Such handsome boy. I bring beer, yes? No charge."

Once she'd left, Anya looked from Vladimir to Dimitri and they all burst out laughing.

Grinning, Anya shook her head in amazement. "What the hell was that?"

Dimitri folded his arms behind his head and leaned back in his chair, the characteristic smirk in full effect. "Don't know. But who says you can't get by on good looks?"

After dinner, they nursed their complimentary mugs of beer until their waitress-turned-hostess rounded them up at closing time. With Pooka tucked under Anya's arm, the three of them trailed behind Inga a few blocks to a two-story clapboard house, one with a steep, sloping roof that butted against the forest line and had no close neighbors. Anya felt a tingle of excitement at the prospect of sleeping in a bed softer than a pine board.

Inga yelped in surprise when the door swung open as her hand touched the handle. A stocky man stood framed by the doorway, scowling at them from the house's dimly lit interior.

Anya disliked him on sight. Strands of greasy black hair stuck to his forehead and his huge hooked nose reminded her of a hawk's beak. She wrinkled her nose at his overpowering odor of cooked onions and sweat. He leered at her in silence, like Scar Face during the  _dubinka_  game. But this didn't feel like competitive intimidation, as it was charged with something dark and unsettling that made Anya's skin crawl.

Inga clucked her tongue and pressed forward, shooing him from her path. "My son, Ivan," she said with a vague hand gesture, almost as an afterthought. She ushered them inside the toasty living room and closed the door behind them.

Vladimir and Dimitri stood stiff as posts at Anya's side, their eyes wandering around a living space packed with knick-knacks - ethnic dolls, dusty books, colorful figurines of tiny dancers made of glazed clay, half-melted candles. There was no surface or corner unadorned. Even Ivan became part of the decoration, withdrawing into the shadows and continuing to watch them, not speaking.

Anya started to think this may have been a bad idea.

Inga caught her attention. "You sleep here," she said, pointing at the long couch before the wood-burning fireplace in the center of the room. Anya nodded her understanding with an internal sigh. So much for the nice fluffy bed.

"Come," the older woman said to the rest of Anya's group, gesturing them to follow her up a set of wooden stairs that looked less than safe. Especially for Vladimir.

As Dimitri brought up the rear, Anya saw his eyes track Ivan as he slumped off and disappeared around a corner on the far side of the house. A moment later, an unseen door squealed opened and slammed shut. Anya hoped it was Ivan leaving for the night.

Dimitri stood halfway up the steps, looking torn between staying in the living room and continuing into the dark unknown beyond. His jaw clenched. "Are you...okay down here?"

Anya didn't exactly feel comfortable, but she grinned to reassure Dimitri she didn't need him hovering like a mother hen. She could handle herself. "I'm fine. Go get some rest."

Dimitri didn't appear convinced.

Anya sighed. "We can't leave now; it'll be rude. I'm okay. Stop worrying." She bent over Pooka sleeping on the couch and picked up one of his paws. She waved it at Dimitri. "Besides, I have a watchdog."

When Dimitri huffed a laugh, Anya wondered if she'd ever stop feeling like she'd won a prize every time she coaxed a genuine smile out of him.

"We're out of here before the sun comes up, so be ready." He cast one more thoughtful glance at Anya over his shoulder and continued upstairs.

That look kept Anya tossing and turning on the hard couch for hours, long after the flames in the fireplace had become embers. She sat up, throat parched beyond belief. Maybe Inga had a pump for water somewhere in the kitchen.

She felt her way from the couch to the small table where she'd spotted an oil lamp and matches earlier in the night. The halo of amber light guided Anya to an adjacent room, where she found a stove and a deep enamel sink. Locating the metal hand pump, she held up the lamp to look for a glass in the cupboard.

The shadowy outline of a man sitting at the table nearby almost made her drop the lamp in her fright.

Hand over her thundering heart, Anya set the lamp on the counter. Ivan's sharp features flickered in and out of the shadows. What in the world was he doing sitting in the dark? How long had he been there?

Gooseflesh erupted all over Anya's skin. She giggled nervously. "God, you scared me. I'm so thirsty...do you know where the glasses are?"

Ivan stayed silent in a way that felt pregnant with purpose.

Anya noticed the uptick in her pulse and tried to stay calm. Inga's son may have been repulsive, but that didn't necessarily make him a threat.

She heard the chair creak as Ivan rose, very slowly. He moved toward her, then stopped short. Anya thought he was going to open the cabinet. Instead, he stood and gaped at her, dark eyes rivaling the nighttime pressing in around them.

Anya suddenly felt like her lungs were too small. But she could handle this. No need to make a fuss over a glass of water. Waiting out the rest of the night with Vladimir and Dimitri upstairs seemed like a better option, anyway. She just needed to get out of the kitchen first.

"You know...on second thought, I think I'll just go back to bed." Anya cringed at the the quiver in her voice. Her eyes darted back and forth between Ivan and the doorway.

He shuffled to his left just enough to block her exit.

The first trickle of real fear sent Anya's heartbeat into overdrive. She took a steadying breath and backed away, hoping the door she'd heard slam earlier was here in the kitchen. When her heels hit the wall, she felt behind her for a handle. Relief surged through her body when her fingers found smooth metal and she turned the knob.

It was locked.

Trembling, she looked all around her for some kind of weapon if it came to that, but it was too dim on this side of the kitchen to see anything.

Ivan advanced and Anya had nowhere to go.

Chest heaving, she tried to reason with him. "Wh-what do you want? I don't...I don't have anything..."

The two words he spoke in halting Russian infused icy needles of terror into Anya's blood.

"Pretty girl."

And that's when she tried to run.

Ivan somehow caught her by the front collar before she could dart past him, slinging her to the floor and knocking the wind out of her. He fell on top of her, Anya gasping for air beneath his crushing weight. Grunting in her ear as his rough hands jammed her dress up around her waist, he fumbled with the closure of her underwear, that awful musty smell invading her nostrils, her body pinned in place as his knees forced her legs wide apart. Anya flailed blindly with elbows and knees, knowing what was about to happen if she did nothing, if she didn't fight.

Upon hearing a satisfying howl as she landed a blow, Anya shrieked the name of the person uppermost in her mind with every ounce of breath she had.

Then a bright flash of light accompanied an explosion of pain in her temple and everything went black.


	21. Undone

Dimitri's name pierced the silence of the house, ripping him out of a restless sleep.

Panic made him stagger to his feet and thunder down the stairs before he was fully awake. Not finding Anya on the living room couch where he'd left her, he followed the sound of Pooka's angry barking and ran toward the glow emanating from the back room.

He entered the kitchen and his heart stopped.

Their kind hostess' son had Anya trapped beneath his body on the floor. She struggled weakly, her eyes fluttering open and shut, like her eyelids and limbs were too heavy to operate.

Time seemed to slow to a quarter of normal speed, and in his state of shock it was as though Dimitri watched his own actions as an outside observer.

He saw himself leaping onto Ivan's broad back. Wrapping the crook of his arm tightly around his neck. Dragging him backward off of Anya, who animated and scurried to safety on her hands and knees.

Taking an elbow to the gut to force Ivan onto his back. Planting his knees on Ivan's chest, a hand on his throat. Balling up his fist and striking him like all their lives depended on it.

Mouth, eyes...jaw, nose.

Over and over.

Again and again.

Blood spurted Dimitri's face, forming droplets on his lashes and making it difficult to see, but he kept going. Kept pounding fist against face until he heard the crunch of bone, until the battered flesh gave like putty, until his own hand went numb. Then he plucked his knife out of his boot.

Hands tugged at his shoulders and arms, one set delicate and female and the other rough and male, trying to move him from his purpose.

Dimitri repelled them with a violent shrug. He was now an animal driven by instinct. This piece of shit had dared to touch Anya and now he had to die.

He cursed as the blood on his palm made the knife slip in his grip. Teeth bared, he brought the edge of the blade to Ivan's throat.

" _Dimitri!_  Dimitri,  _stop_  - DON'T KILL HIM!"

Anya's hysterical warning filtered through Dimitri's haze of fury.

The passage of time began to normalize as he came back to himself, the distant roar in the background sharpening into distinct voices. Pooka's incessant yapping. Vladimir's anxious commands to put down the knife. Ivan's groans of agony. The woman of the house tearing into the kitchen with a wail and screaming at them all to get out.

Chest heaving, Dimitri wiped his face on his sleeve. He'd managed to abstain from slicing Inga's degenerate son open in her own kitchen, but he'd turned Ivan's face into a gory, mangled mess. Both eyes had swelled shut, already turning a purplish black. His jaw hung at an unnatural angle. His lips and cheeks had puffed up to the point of deformity. Several bloody teeth lay scattered on the floor nearby and his head lolled to the side as he passed out.

Vladimir's huge arms wrapped around Dimitri's chest from behind, pulling him away from Ivan's limp form.

Dimitri glared at Vladimir over his shoulder, eyes wild, his entire being still on fire as he wobbled to a stand. He let himself be shoved through the living room and out the front door, and the three of them stumbled together into the night.

They stood in the road within a lone gas lamp's circle of light, each working hard to catch their breath. The biting chill in the air had no effect on Dimitri. All he felt was the slow boil of his blood as he wiped his knife on a patch of grass and put it back in his boot.

"Dimitri..."

He couldn't bear to look at Anya. She had never sounded so broken and scared and it made him wish he had slit that psychopath's throat.

Dimitri spoke to her without looking, barely able to force the question past his lips. "Did...did he...?"

" _No_...I-I'm alright, I think." Anya sucked in a shuddering breath. "I just..."

The way she paused made the hair on the back of Dimitri's neck prickle in the worst way. "You just what - ?"

But by now his eyes were open and he could see Anya's face in the yellowish light. He watched her brush at the wetness on her cheeks with her hands. He witnessed her grimace in pain at the swollen fist-sized bruise near her left eye.

It pushed him past bearing.

He spun and stalked into the forest, hands balled into fists at his sides, his full-body trembling having nothing to do with the steep drop in temperature beyond the treeline.

Vladimir and Anya called after him and followed his trail, but he paid them no heed. He was too busy grappling with the excruciating knot Anya's tears had tied in his chest.

This was his fault.

He'd seen that monster eyeballing her like prey and said nothing. Did  _nothing_. Even though his intuition had told him to stay with her, that she shouldn't have been alone. But he'd ignored it because being in Anya's presence always felt too damn complicated.

Dimitri slapped branches out of his path as he zigzagged through the trees, cursing viciously under his breath.

The thought of what could have happened to her if he'd been a moment too late made him want to vomit. Despite being quick enough to prevent the unspeakable, Anya's wounds - physical or otherwise - were evidence of his failure.

Dimitri's regret went deeper than that of a businessman allowing his merchandise to be damaged prior to sale. Much deeper.

Anya had somehow wormed her way into the weakest part of himself, the part he tried so hard to keep buried. In all her skinny, petulant, witty, foul-mouthed glory, she was his now. Dimitri suspected if any man had so much as tried to touch her, his violent reaction may not have been that different.

He knew what that could mean. And it made him furious.

He doubled over at the edge of a small clearing, heart threatening to punch a hole through his sternum. Leaves crunched beneath Vladimir's heavy tread as he emerged from the thick foliage and approached Dimitri, his silhouette silver in the bright moonlight overhead.

Dimitri straightened, frowning. He hadn't heard an accompanying set of footsteps.

"I sent her off to tend to Pooka," Vladimir said, answering the unspoken question. He'd evidently been able to spirit their belongings from the house and dropped them on the ground at Dimitri's feet. His voice turned grave. "You and I need to discuss this. Now."

"We sure as hell do." Dimitri started to pace, feeling like the beast within would escape if he stood in one spot. "Do you have any idea how far this set us back? It'll take weeks for her to heal enough to be presentable. At a  _minimum_."

Vladimir heaved an uncharacteristic sigh. "Dimitri..."

"I'm serious, Vlad! We could run out of money before then. Then what, huh? How's that going to work? What are we going to do then?"

When Vladimir reached for Dimitri's shoulders to hold him still, he wrestled out of the older man's grasp. Vladimir let his arms drop to his sides in resignation. "Dimitri, listen to me -"

"How can you be so calm?" Dimitri vented his anger on his partner, gesturing violently with his hands. "What the hell is wrong with you? This is a disaster! How the fuck is she supposed to meet the Dowager like that?"

"Dimitri - "

"LOOK AT HER FACE!"

Vladimir stared at Dimitri in the stillness that followed his anguished roar, unmoved.

Dimitri whirled, punching his fist into his palm hard enough to bruise. Closing his eyes did nothing to erase the image of Anya sprawled on the floor in that kitchen, of her tears glistening beneath the lamplight. He clenched his teeth so hard pain shot through his jaw.

"Dimitri, look at me."

Shaking, he met Vladimir's strangely sympathetic gaze, the dark eyes seeing straight through Dimitri's bullshit, as always.

"That is not the reason why you are so upset."

He and his mentor watched each other, their breaths forming white puffs of steam in the brisk air. Dimitri didn't have it in him to entertain the discussion any longer. Scowling, he turned away again. "I'm going to look for firewood so we all don't freeze to death out here."

He kept himself occupied for the hour it took to build a fire with the little dry tinder he could find and the matches in his coat pocket. Anya returned with Pooka and sat beside him on a fallen log. Dimitri tensed, continuing to poke at the fire with a long stick to coax it into growing brighter.

They sat in weighted silence, until Dimitri noticed her patting her chest with her hand and wincing. He gave her a sidelong glance. "What's wrong?"

Anya looked surprised he'd spoken at all. She pulled her misshapen collar up to her neck. "It's nothing."

The fire began to burn in earnest, casting them in an orange glow. Dimitri studied the hand clutching at her dress. He wet his lips. "Let me see, then."

Anya averted her eyes, pale cheeks growing pink. "Don't worry about it."

"This isn't negotiable, Anya."

She removed her hand with a roll of her eyes. The firelight danced over the angry red welts Ivan's fingernails had left on her chest, just below her collarbones. Dimitri began to simmer with disgust and rage all over again.

His fingers reached out and traced the marks on her overheated skin before he could stop them. Anya gasped.

Dimitri snatched his hand back, the heat pooling in his face rivaling that of the fire. He stared at the flames and coughed into his fist. "Do they hurt bad?"

Sensing Anya shake her head, he nodded. "Good. That's...that's good."

After another long stretch of silence, Anya spoke in the quietest voice Dimitri had ever heard from her. "Are... _you_  okay?"

He snorted in disbelief but avoided eye contact. "I should be asking you that." He noticed Anya's tiny smile from the corner of his eye and marveled how she could even manage it.

"I'm okay. Or will be, I guess." She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I'm...I'm glad you were there."

Dimitri sighed, guilt washing over him in a sickening wave. "Me, too."

He caught Anya wiping her eyes again. She mimicked his sigh. "Bad shit happens sometimes, right?"

Dimitri had seen many flavors of bad shit, much more than his fair share. Violence. Homelessness. Starvation. Abandonment.

Death.

"Yeah." He grunted and tossed a stick into the writhing tongues of flame. "Bad shit happens."

Anya lapsed, then said, "This might be some of the worst shit that's happened to me, though."

Dimitri didn't answer. He sensed their conversation edging toward dangerously personal territory. With his emotions still tumultuous and erratic, he was having a hard time separating Dimitri The Con from Dimitri The Man who might have feelings for her he shouldn't.

Really, really shouldn't.

He jumped at the cool touch of Anya's fingers on the back of his right hand. "What are you doing?"

She nodded toward his beaten, bloody knuckles. "You need to clean that out before it gets infected. Got any liquor?"

"Vlad has a flask, but you don't have to -"

"This isn't negotiable, Dimitri." She gave him an expectant look.

Dimitri groaned and dug the flask out of the inner pocket of his coat, which Vladimir had tossed onto the log next to him before going to sleep.

Anya took it from him and soaked a clean piece of fabric she'd ripped from the hem of her dress. She centered his hand on his knee and didn't speak as she dabbed at his wounds. It stung like hell, but Dimitri couldn't make a sound for the lump he'd developed in his throat.

Then: "Thank you." Anya stilled.

Dimitri could feel her stare. Taking in a silent breath, he turned his gaze from the fire.

He was unprepared for the nakedness of her gratitude, the way her eyes shone so blue and devastating in the firelight. He refocused on the ground.

Anya's voice became soft as fine velvet. "I won't forget what you did for me."

Dimitri closed his eyes again, trying to block out her expression and the implications of the soul-deep ache it had triggered. "Anyone else would have done the same thing," he said.

Anya scoffed. "That's not true and you know it." She began to smooth the cloth over his raw knuckles, wiping away flakes of dried blood. Somewhere amidst the pain, Dimitri felt something indecent that made him want to squirm. He hazarded a look in her direction. "It wasn't your fault, what happened tonight. You know that, right?"

Anya met his eyes, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. "Yeah. I know."

They fell quiet again, listening to the hiss and pop of the fire feeding on the logs. The heat and the soothing way Anya tended his wounds made Dimitri's lips looser than he had ever thought possible. Or allowed. "I...I was an only child. For a long time, anyway. I was very young when my father left us, when my mother was pregnant with my little brother or sister."

Anya kept dragging the rag over his skin.

"She lost the baby right after, when she was almost due." Dimitri wanted to shut up but couldn't. "Stress, or something. That's what the doctor said. And, uh...she couldn't handle it."

Anya looked up at him, eyes wide.

Dimitri could never forget the room he'd shared with his mother in the servants' quarters of the palace. Or the resistance when he'd tried to open their bedroom door one night after dinner. Or the pitch blackness waiting for him on the other side. Or the feel of her feet swinging into his face when he found her hanging from a beam in the ceiling.

"She killed herself. I...I found her body."

Anya gasped and dropped the piece of cloth. Her words became a whisper. "How old were you?"

Dimitri coughed to keep his voice from breaking. "Eight." He shuddered, the horror of the memory close to suffocating him. Like he almost had tonight, Dimitri arrived too late to make a difference. Rescuing the Grand Duchess and her grandmother had acted as a private redemption. "That's the worst shit that ever happened to me, I guess. Compared to that, everything else was a piece of cake."

"God...I'm so sorry, Dimitri."

Dimitri shrugged. "Don't be. It happens." He didn't like the sympathy that had settled along the curves of Anya's face. What had possessed him to tell her about his mother? Even Vladimir didn't know.

Anya's trembling hand covered his and she repeated his previous words to her, her eyes soft. "It wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

No, Dimitri didn't know that, but as their eyes met that strange internal knot condensed into something warm and tender and altogether terrifying.

He had to get out of there.

Anya's face fell when he stood and extracted his hand. He grabbed his coat from the log and draped it over her shoulders, looking everywhere but at her.

"Try to sleep," he said, fleeing towards where Vladimir lay on the opposite side of the fire. "You need the rest."


	22. Sleepless

The shocking intimacy of Dimitri's revelation prevented Anya's eyes from closing for sleep. Her mind refused to accept the idea of a person witnessing a scene so horrid at such a young age. It was worse than all the stories she'd heard growing up in the orphanage, and she'd caught wind of some truly awful stuff over the years. She couldn't imagine ending up anywhere close to normal after something like that.

She replayed every interaction she'd ever had with Dimitri in her head, his words and actions filtered through the understanding that his circumstances had made him an orphan. Just like she was. A young person with no parental guidance navigated life differently, often thinking and behaving in ways most people couldn't understand.

Anya could. It made her burn with the need to truly know Dimitri, to learn about the experiences that had molded a broken little boy into a man who could commit murder in the name of honor.

Back at the house, Anya had been almost afraid of him as she watched his rage take temporary possession of his body, but she had context for it now. It had been fed by the bottomless well of pain he'd carried since childhood. Anya had no doubt Ivan would be dead had she not intervened. The knowledge chilled and strangely warmed her at the same time.

Her new awareness of Dimitri pounded with her pulse. She couldn't stop watching every move he made, wanting him to glance her way. As she compulsively smoothed her palm over the scratches on her chest, she could still feel his cool fingertips ghosting over her skin and the searing flutter in her lower belly in response.

No matter how long and hard she stared at Dimitri from her pallet by the fire, Anya just couldn't see him like she did before.

Dimitri seemed to want to make sure she did. The next morning found him even more withdrawn and subdued than he'd been when he abruptly ended their conversation. He kept all eye contact with her as brief as possible. He never once strayed from the subject at hand and maintained a three-foot radius of personal space during the course of Anya's lessons throughout the day. It became painfully clear he had no intention of letting her get closer, in any sense of the word. In the aftermath of their vibrant moment of kinship, Anya had never felt more alone.

Especially when the nightmares began.

Ivan appeared in living color the moment Anya fell asleep, so vivid she could smell and taste his stench in the back of her throat. She awoke shaking, curled into a ball, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes.

As she did the next night, and the next. And all the nights that followed.

So she stopped sleeping altogether, and Dimitri continued to shut her out, until the stress of it all stripped her entire spectrum of emotion down to two: fear and anger.

Fear of every twig snap and leaf crunch and rustle in the woods, of the thick country darkness at night. Fear of not being good enough for a grandmother she couldn't remember. Fear of everything and nothing.

Anger at herself for being too weak to fight Ivan off, for being stupid enough to end up in a situation where she needed a savior in the first place, at Dimitri for making her care so much it hurt then hiding himself away.  
Each emotion fed the other, both growing in intensity as the days passed. But they didn't stop Anya from pretending to be asleep in order to glean what she could about Dimitri every night.

He didn't rest much, either. He slowly paced his and Vladimir's side of the campfire for hours on end, pausing every now and then to study the treeline. He never crossed the invisible line he seemed to have drawn down the middle of their camp, the line that separated their side of the fire from hers. Anya never saw him glance in her direction. Not once.

Every time Vladimir started snoring, Dimitri used his knife to whittle sticks of firewood to fine points only to drive the sharpened ends into the ground near his makeshift pallet.

He'd retire after the fire had been reduced to a few sputtering flames and lay on his back to watch the moon travel across an endless night sky - sometimes rich with dark clouds, other times studded with infinite points of starlight. Anya knew he'd fallen asleep when he rolled halfway onto his stomach with his back to the fire.

As she studied Dimitri in secret, she could almost see the scars on his psyche, jagged and uneven from having to piece himself back together on his own after his tragedy. He'd turned out to be much more complicated under the surface than she could have imagined.

Cavalier and cocky, yet thoughtful and kind. Shoving her off a moving train one day, ready to kill a man to protect her the next.

Baring a bit of his soul, then slamming the door to the emotional vault in her face.

Anya felt pathetic. Anastasia would never spy on a man like an obsessive schoolgirl. She was a Romanov - strong, proud, resilient, reasonable. Worthy of her family name and lineage.

Anya wasn't any of those things right now.

Which was why she chucked a whole steamed trout at Dimitri's head when he snapped at her for forgetting to curtsy before sitting down to eat. It bounced harmlessly off his chin before falling into the dirt near his feet. Vladimir looked up from searching for something in their luggage in surprise, but said nothing.

"What the hell!" Dimitri jumped up from his spot on the log in an outrage, wiping the slime off his skin with the back of his hand. "What is your problem - that was most of dinner!"

"You should've thought about that before you yelled at me like a fucking child!"

Dimitri's eyes widened before his brows crashed together. "Well, if you would do what I fucking _tell_  you to do, I wouldn't have to!"

His baleful response felt like hot pins in Anya's heart. She gulped, the itchy burn behind her eyeballs forecasting a flood of tears, and stormed off into the forest. She had to get a grip.

" _Jesus_...Anya, come back!"

Anya shook her head to block Dimitri out and started running.

Her heart raced. She couldn't breathe. It wasn't like her to run away from a disagreement, but she didn't recognize herself anymore.

How was she supposed to be the Grand Duchess of Russia if she couldn't argue with Dimitri now without having a meltdown? How could she face her grandmother if she couldn't even stare down her own irrational fears?

She still felt trapped in Inga's kitchen, pinned to the floor, not strong enough to free herself. Then or now.

Anya tripped on a tree root hidden by groundcover and fell to the ground, the impact knocking her tears loose at last. She drew her knees to her chest and sobbed like her heart was breaking. Maybe it was. Her entire life had been one continuous letdown, but the disappointment had never been in herself.

She had really thought she was stronger than this.

A sudden touch on her shoulder made her scream and strike out wildly. Ivan had found her and had come to finish the job -

"Anya stop, it's me! It's me." Dimitri held both hands up, backing away.

Breathing hard and heart racing, Anya's trusty anger rose like a shield and she quickly wiped her tears on her sleeve. "Go away."

Dimitri put his hands on his hips, looking truly bewildered. "Did I miss something here? What is wrong with you?"

Anya didn't know;  _that_  was the problem.

She snarled the first thing that came to mind. "What do you care?"

A bitterness passed over Dimitri's expression. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Did you really just ask me that?"

She did, and now she was ashamed that she had. Anya folded her arms atop her knees and buried her face in the bend of her elbow. "Just leave me alone, Dimitri.  _Please._ "

"No," Dimitri said, lowering his body into a squat near her but not close enough to make contact. "What are you gonna do about it? Beat me up?"

Anya sighed bitterly and mumbled against her thighs.

Leaves crackled as Dimitri shuffled a bit closer. "What? What did you say?"

"I said, 'I don't think I can do this anymore!'" Anya said, lifting her head and bearing her pain on her face like a banner.

"Do what?"

"This!" Anya said, making a sweeping gesture with her arm. " _Being_  her. Everything. All of it." She clamped her eyes closed, the despair about to run her over like a freight train that had jumped its track. "I thought...I knew I could...but I can't, I-I'm not -"

With a grunt of frustration, Anya gave up trying to articulate to Dimitri what she hardly understood herself.

Dimitri studied her in silence. He bit his lip, then his face became hard before he jumped to his feet. He looked at Anya still sitting on the ground, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Get up."

Anya put her head back down and sniffled. "You can't tell me what to do - "

"Get  _up_ , Anya. Right now."

She glared up at Dimitri and found her simmering look reflected in his eyes.

"I bet Ivan could make you stand up - "

Anya was on her feet and shoving Dimitri as hard as she could before she'd processed the movement. "Fuck you, Dimitri!"

He stumbled backward but when he regarded her, he didn't appear angry or smug. If anything, he looked as pained as she felt. "You feel that?" he asked. "That fury? You probably want to kill me right now, and that's good. _That's_  Anastasia. She's not going to let me or some asshole in some backwoods town or anything else keep her from getting what she wants."

Anya blinked at him, shocked into speechlessness. He was right. She had been sitting here licking her wounds instead of focusing on the only thing that mattered: Paris.

Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest, the stance he'd assume whenever he knew he'd knocked her off balance. "So, tell me then...who are you?"

Anya dashed away the remnants of her tears with her palms, squared her shoulders, raised her chin. "I am the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna."

"Hm...you sure you're not just some cheap impersonator? I'm sure a Grand Duchess wouldn't mumble like that -"

"I am Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova!"

Dimitri nodded. "And what do you want, Your Highness?"

You, Anya suddenly wanted to say, then frowned at the errant thought. "To be reunited with my grandmother, the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna, who lives in Paris."

"And are you still angry?"

Anya's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"Good," Dimitri said. "Use it. It's fuel to forget everything that doesn't matter and to remember everything else that does."

How had Dimitri known exactly what to say, let alone how to say it? Pissing her off had gotten his point across. Anya felt the corrosive slurry of negative emotion begin to slowly drain away, leaving one shining pearl of sentiment behind, solid and unmistakable.

She loved him.

In this moment there was no doubt, no pretense. Even before Dimitri had come running to her rescue, Anya had realized she breathed a little easier when he was near, that a single one of those smiles of his lit up her entire world for days. Now, the realization that wanting a future with him had begun to eclipse her desire to rectify her past rattled Anya to the bone.

From what she'd heard, the awareness that she had fallen in love should have lifted her spirits. Instead, it made her feel much, much worse, for an entirely different reason.

Everyone she'd ever loved was taken from her. She didn't even have the luxury of happy recollections in which to memorialize her parents and siblings. And her grandmother was still, for all intents and purposes, a hope and a prayer.

But Anya did remember Irina, her best friend and drinking game partner, who froze to death after running away from Comrade Phlegmenkoff's regular beatings in the dead of winter. Anya hadn't known what to think or feel when Irina kissed her on the mouth then disappeared into the snowy night. She had been like a sister, and Anya felt like a piece of her heart had died with her.

Despite their close friendship, Anya was always the caretaker, watching over Irina and all the little ones in the orphanage who looked up to her. Anya had always taken care of herself. She made sure she never needed anyone. And then came Dimitri, rescuing her at every turn with a scowl on his face.

Anya had known love before, but what she held in her heart for Dimitri felt even bigger, burrowed even deeper. That's what made it so dangerous. That's what made it impossible.

No. She couldn't let "them" happen, no matter what it took. She wouldn't survive another loss.

"Well?" Dimitri looked expectant. "Are you up to the challenge or not?"

Anya swallowed hard and forced her face into her most imperious expression. "Is that any way to speak to a duchess?"

Dimitri smirked and bowed at the waist. "Forgive me. I'm at your service, Your Grace." When he raised his head, his deep chestnut eyes sparkled with a familiar mischief. "It's good to have you back."

Anya smothered her smile and walked ahead of him back to camp.


	23. Back to Basics

The modus operandi that had been second nature to Dimitri for so long - always have an escape plan and remember to cut your losses - seemed to have oozed right out of his ears the last night in the palace. Anya's unforeseen...circumstances had shaken his confidence even more than their escape from the guards on the train, which now felt like a minor inconvenience after what had transpired in that house.

At one time, Dimitri could part a widower from his life's savings as easily as he could a young lady from her unmentionables. Years of practice had made it effortless, molding him into the consummate artist. Teaming up with Vladimir and his counterfeit prowess had made Dimitri unstoppable. He'd been a con's con, the man, and anything in the city he wanted was his for the taking.

Then he'd met Anya and turned into a fucking amateur overnight.

Mistake after mistake, blunder after blunder. Murphy's law in action in every aspect of their carefully crafted scheme - all day, every day. It drove him insane. Never more so than in his needing to play hero to Anya's damsel in distress.

It triggered an identity crisis for Dimitri at first. He'd never met the distraught man running to Anya's rescue, and he certainly hadn't recognized the guy spilling his guts beside a cozy campfire. Even amidst the horror of his emotions being exposed to Anya's pity, Dimitri understood one thing: his sentimental doppelganger had to go. Immediately.

He regrouped once everyone had fallen asleep that first night, mentally ticking off the factors that had brought him to the forsaken Latvian wilderness in the first place.

He had no home, no real family, no woman, and very little money. Which meant he had no legitimate future at the moment. The only endings waiting for him in St. Petersburg should he fall short were a tiny jail cell or a forced labor camp or a soldier's bullet with his name on it. If failure hadn't been an option before they left Russia, it sure as hell wasn't now.

The self-assessment gave Dimitri the strength to bind and gag the pitiful version of himself deep within his mental prison, where he belonged. Sad bastard never should have gotten out in the first place.

He also realized - not without an initial wave of self-loathing - that the attempted rape may have even worked in his favor. Anya hadn't broken, but she had definitely softened, so pliable now she'd follow any command he gave her without complaint or protest. All was not lost. A traumatic experience may have been just the thing to get the con back on track.

"We need to stay out here," he explained to Vladimir, who didn't like Anya exposed to the elements when there were perfectly good inns in town somewhere, no matter what Inga had said. "Do you want people to think one of  _us_  has been knocking her around?" Dimitri had just managed to keep his expression neutral, as the thought of Anya's bruised face still made him feel like someone had set his lungs on fire. Each time he'd sneak into town past the local police for a few days' worth of food and beer, Dimitri prayed he didn't run into Ivan and have to strangle the urge to finish what he'd started.

Keeping things impersonal with Anya became a necessity. He taught her exactly what she needed to know and no more. No smiles, no teasing, no clever Dimitri-isms he knew would make her laugh - nothing. He didn't make eye contact longer than he needed to. He wouldn't come anywhere near her to prevent inadvertent touching of any kind.

Dimitri had to remain vigilant. Now that it had broken out once, his jailed alter ego wasn't going down without a fight.

The nightmares Anya thought she'd kept hidden, for example, had it straining against its rusted chains with the need to comfort her. Dimitri heard her thrashing and whimpering every night but reinforced the padlock on those restraints, not allowing himself more than a cursory glance to check on her welfare. As long as she wasn't beating her head against a rock or something, she was fine.

While his softer side was susceptible to Anya's impromptu sob session, practical Dimitri just wanted to shut her up by any means necessary, and thank God he was still in charge. Throwing Ivan in her face felt much like pouring vodka over an open wound, but it had to be done. In the end, when he'd been able to strike a balance between sympathy and detachment and she'd snapped out of her funk, Dimitri wondered if humanizing her lessons a bit might advance her faster than cold, hard facts alone.

As he predicted, Anya more easily retained the glut of information after he relaxed his teaching style. Though he held the leash on his feelings with an iron fist, he no longer balked when Anya strayed from the subject matter. If delving into a lively debate on philosophy - how the hell had she studied Descartes in an orphanage, anyway? - somehow committed the intricacies of royal court life to her memory, then so be it.

"Dimitri," Vladimir said one afternoon, as the sun speared bright white light through the trees surrounding them, "the bus left nearly a week ago. We should focus on finding transportation to Germany."

"No," Dimitri said, brushing off his partner's unnecessary concern. "Anya hasn't healed enough yet."

So Vladimir kept Anya supplied with scraps of cloth moistened with icy water from a nearby stream; she winced and held them against her face until they warmed to aid the healing process.

Dimitri also found it interesting, if not fortuitous, that Anya already shared the Grand Duchess' known tastes in music and art. It hadn't been his intention to spend so much time lying on his back in the soft new grass by her side, discussing the work of artists he knew and blithely teaching her lewd songs from the whorehouses Vladimir used to frequent when Dimitri was younger.

He rather liked how she'd snort with laughter, teeth gleaming white in the sun, but it was all in the name of education. If a friendly rapport was what she needed to recall the daily routines in the Romanov household, he'd oblige her.

"Dimitri," Vladimir said late one night, voice gruff with unease, "it has been over two weeks. Anya's face is almost completely healed. We should leave soon."

Dimitri shook his head from his seat on the ground, watching Anya wriggle into a more comfortable position under his coat, fast asleep. Since discovering that his presence kept her nightmares in check, he'd relocated his sleeping spot to her side of their camp. She needed to sleep well to learn well. No danger there; he never got too close. "She's still too skinny, Vlad," he said. "We need to get some more fat on her first."

Their remaining funds dwindled even faster when they doubled their efforts in fattening Anya up: dark, dense loaves of bread, whole pieces of smoked fish all to herself, thick chunks of pungent goat cheese, the fattiest chicken thighs they could find. Dimitri even made Vladimir hand over the local honey cake he'd tried to hide in his coat. Going a little hungry to ensure Anya looked presentable for the Dowager was a sacrifice Dimitri was willing to make.

"Dimitri," Vladimir began, exasperated.

"I know it's been almost a month, Vlad," Dimitri snapped, irritated that his mentor seemed to be losing faith in Dimitri's judgment. "We should wait until the weather gets a little warmer. Traveling will be easier on these back roads then. We're lucky it hasn't really snowed or rained since we've been out here."

After another straight week of balmy spring weather, when it became clear that Anya could walk and talk and roll royal facts off her tongue like she'd known them all her life, Vladimir simply shot Dimitri a withering look.

For no reason, it made Dimitri anxious. "She's not ready yet, Vlad," he said. "We -  _she_  just needs a little more time." Saying it out loud made it sound uncomfortably close to a lame excuse, which it wasn't at all, but Dimitri had to make sure Anya had learned everything she needed know, that he hadn't missed anything. They still had so much more ground to cover, and if that meant more illuminating conversations about everything and nothing that burned through the hours of the day to make absolutely sure, well...

Dimitri knew what he was doing.

Another morning soon after, Vladimir squeezed Dimitri's shoulder hard enough to make him wince. The older man's beard had overgrown to become one with the rest of the frizzled hair on his head. "Dimitri, we will soon have no more money. We are leaving. Right now. Or would you rather we all starve?"

Dimitri bristled and shrugged off his hand. Who did Vladimir think he was? Anya would be ready when  _Dimitri_  said so, not before.

Luckily for his friend, Dimitri just so happened to think that day had come.

As they packed up Pooka and the rest of their belongings and took to the road at last, Dimitri noticed Anya had adopted Anastasia's royal gait with no encouragement. She'd evidently refined it to perfection and made it her own, creating a sight as she walked ahead of him that was downright sensual. Dimitri's throat and trousers tightened as he swallowed mouthfuls of nothing.

It was the celibacy talking again. Nothing to fret about. The second he got rich, that would be the first thing he'd rectify.

In addition to her highborn stride, Anya recalled everything else she'd been taught with flawless accuracy.

She maintained immaculate table manners as they lunched in the back of a pig farmer's truck on the way to the Lithuanian border.

She rode horseback deep into the boonies to skirt the patrol like she had been born in a saddle.

Hour after hour, she recited the names and nicknames and personal histories of every single member of the royal family - the Romanovs and the rest of Europe - after they hitched an overnight ride across Poland into Germany.

Then she handled her bicycle with an instinctive grace for the half day journey to Berlin before practically passing out from exhaustion on the bus.

Dimitri watched her sleep with her cheek pressed against the window in a state of astonishment. And perhaps a tinge of admiration. She was a trooper.

"Here," Vladimir said in a whisper, pressing a thick wad of German  _Rentenmarks_  into Dimitri hand during a rest stop a few hundred miles from their destination. "There is enough for food and boat fare, as well as some clothes and toiletries for Anya."

Dimitri's eyes widened. "Where the hell did you get all this money?" Then he noticed the faint tan line on Vladimir's right middle finger where his gaudy ruby ring used to be. The one he hadn't taken off since the day he'd barreled into Dimitri's life.

Dimitri's heart sank. All these years and he'd never asked about its significance. Now he wished he had. "Jesus, Vlad...you didn't have to do that. I know it was important to you - "

Vladimir held up his hand to stop Dimitri and smiled. He threw an affectionate glance at Anya, who had started snoring. "Anything for Her Majesty."

Dimitri had a good half hour to find Anya something suitable to wear for her grandmother's inspection. He purchased a decent hairbrush, a bottle of shampoo and some kind of fancy soap at an apothecary near the bus stop, blushing at having to use hand gestures to communicate with the surly clerk.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wander too far to find a dress shop. As he perused rack after rack of girlish confections in lace and satin and cotton gauze, snippets of recent conversations he thought he'd forgotten floated into his mind unbidden.

Their pupil may have learned a great deal over the past few weeks between himself and Vladimir, but Dimitri had unintentionally picked up tidbits about  _her_. Things that were just Anya and not Anastasia at all.

Like how tulips made her sneeze and how she loved summertime thunderstorms. How she was deathly afraid of butterflies. That she hated wearing shoes and could darn a sock by hand with her eyes closed. That the one chocolate she'd received the Christmas of her thirteenth year had tasted so good she'd cried. That she'd had the mumps once, lice and whooping cough twice, and influenza at least eight times. That her favorite color was that of a clear sky because of how she'd stare out of a dirty window from a sick bed in the orphanage, wishing she could play outside.

Dimitri remembered everything, down to how Anya's nose had crinkled or her eyes had squinted or the dimple in her left cheek had flashed when she spoke. Every last detail had stuck in his brain like cloves in an Easter ham.

So he understood why the blue dress beckoned to him, its sleeve a bright island in a monochrome sea of dull gold, brown and gray. He worked the hanger free from the rack and held the dress up to the rich sunlight streaming through the windows. The smooth sateen fabric gleamed softly, flowing like a fluid between his fingers.

It was a bit on the large side, but he didn't have time for any more browsing. It had to be the one.

He paid the aggressive cashier, but not before she'd somehow talked him into buying a matching set of cotton pajamas and some coordinating hair ribbons using body language alone.

Dimitri had a spring in his step as he strolled back down the street to the bus depot. With a start he realized it was because he couldn't wait to see the look on Anya's face.

Fine, maybe he did care much more than he should have. But this enterprise had been his entire adult life's work, and these were extenuating circumstances. It required a certain level of passion. He could cut himself a little slack.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter how much of what Anya hated and loved had been branded onto his mind. Ten million  _rubles_  could buy all the amnesia he'd ever need when all this was over.


	24. Static

The abrupt sensation of the earth disappearing beneath her jarred Anya awake with a gasp, her face numbed by the cold glass window pressing against her cheek.

"Relax, Princess."

Disoriented, Anya's head snapped to the right. Dimitri lounged in the adjacent seat, reading what looked like a travel brochure. "You're fine," he said. "We only hit a bump in the road." With a little sardonic smile, he turned the page without looking at her. "Literally."

Anya let out a long sigh, a palm flat against her chest. Her heartbeat should have slowed once she recalled they were still on the bus in Germany, on their way to the boat that would take them to France. Waking to have Dimitri so close had the opposite effect.

She rubbed her bleary eyes and yawned, unable to suppress the smile spreading across her face. Simply breathing the same air as Dimitri seemed to make her ecstatic, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

Too exhausted at the moment to wrestle with her emotions, Anya smoothed some stray hairs out of her face and covered her mouth with her hand instead. "Hey."

Dimitri's eyes flipped up to meet hers, warm and impish. "Hey."

Her pulse continued to thump in the brisk, erratic tempo allocated to Dimitri's proximity. Anya was breathless for a different reason now.

A whimper from the floor below her seat stole her attention. Pooka had made a nest of the bags she hadn't been able to fit into the crowded overhead compartment. He stood up on his hind legs with his tiny front paws on the edge of her seat, tail wagging.

Grinning, Anya clapped her hands. "Aw, Pooka! You want to sit up here with me?"

He whined and wriggled in a delighted frenzy as she bent and picked him up. Muscles stiff from sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, Anya grimaced and tried to unfurl her body from its cramped position. Her cheeks heated when she realized there was only one place for her limbs to go.

She quickly stretched her legs out across Dimitri's knees and settled Pooka onto her lap.

Dimitri held his hands up and away from his body. He looked down at her legs in their ripped stockings then up at her, his face unreadable. "You can't be serious."

Anya crossed her legs at the ankle and batted her lashes at him. "What? I have to stretch at some point, Dimitri. Do you  _want_  me to get a blood clot or something?"

Dimitri grunted in what sounded like disgust but went back to reading. Anya was happy to note he made no effort to move her.

Scratching behind Pooka's ears, she glanced over her shoulder. The German countryside rolled slowly by beyond the window, an endless sea of young green fields soaking up the waning sunlight. "How long was I out, anyway?"

She heard Dimitri cough and flip another page. "Couple of hours. We're an hour or so outside of Stralsund now, I think."

"Dimitri!" Anya turned back and swatted him hard on the arm with the back of her hand.

" _Ow!_  What?"

"Why'd you let me sleep? I told you I wanted to see Berlin before we left!"

Dimitri tried to throw the pamphlet at her in retaliation, but the thin paper caught on a breeze and drifted soundlessly to the floor. "We didn't have time to sight-see, for one thing. And besides, have you ever tried to wake you up? It's not pretty. Personally, I'd rather eat a bucket of live hornets than do that ever again."

Disappointed that she'd missed so much already, Anya crossed her arms and pouted. "Well, did you at least get some food from somewhere? I'm starving."

Dimitri snorted. "You say that like that's a departure from the norm." He leaned over where he'd hung his coat on the edge of the seat and returned with a small bundle wrapped in brown tissue paper.

Anya caught a whiff of the treat before he'd unwrapped it, mouth already watering. "That's chocolate, isn't it?"

"I hope. It was a freebie from a rather...unsavory fellow at the bus stop in Berlin, so your guess is as good as mine."

Anya made a face and took it from his hand. "I know you're trying to get me fat, by the way." Snickering at Dimitri's shocked expression, she added, "Why are you so surprised I noticed? Every time I turn around you're shoving food in my face." Pooka sniffed at the wrapping paper and Anya gently shooed him away. Unbothered, he crawled his way down the length of Anya's legs and curled up in Dimitri's lap next to her shoes.

Dimitri looked annoyed at both her and the dog. "I never heard you complain. As a matter of fact, mealtimes may have been the _only_  time I didn't hear you complain, Your Highness." He shifted so her feet hung over into the aisle.

"Yeah, well...you don't turn down a free meal where I'm from. Although something with some meat and potatoes in it this time wouldn't have hurt." She broke the large sweet in two and held out the other half to Dimitri with a big smile. "But if I'm going to get fat, so are you."

"I think I'll pass -"

Anya leaned over and popped the chunk of candy past his lips before he could finish saying no. She sat back laughing, chewing with her mouth open wide because she knew he'd find it repulsive.

Narrowing his eyes, Dimitri readjusted the chocolate with a fingertip, which he sucked clean. The bulge in his cheek distorted his words as he chewed. "I hope you choke."

Anya just crinkled her nose and grinned.

They'd eased into an effortless camaraderie over the past few weeks, often joking and teasing each other this way during Anya's royal instruction and well into the night. To Anya, it now felt as comfortable as a well-worn sweater in deep winter. It became more and more difficult to remember her life without Dimitri in it, challenging her with his ridiculous opinion of the undue hype of Tolstoy's novels, or chasing her around the forest clearing after she'd put a fistful of beetles in his hair as payback.

Dimitri slid the fallen brochure within reach with the toe of his boot. "How do you feel, anyway?" he asked, turning back to the page he'd been reading. Pooka licked at his palm and he absently petted the pooch with his free hand.

"Still hungry, thank you very much."

"Ha, ha. I mean about the boat. About Paris being so close now."

Anya bit her lip, considering. Her main focus had been the sheer amount of memorization required of her over the last month. If she let herself linger on the fact that her dreams were coming so close to fruition, she might become too anxious to remember anything. "I feel ready, I think."

Dimitri raised an eyebrow at her. "You 'think'?"

"Well, who knows how I'll feel when we actually land in France." Her mouth twisted. "But I do feel as  _prepared_  as humanly possible. Having the same stuff drilled into your head day after day will do that."

"Good." Dimitri finally put down his reading material and crossed his arms, settling them atop Anya's ankles. After making a production of getting comfortable, he let his head fall back against the seat and closed his eyes. "You can thank me later."

Anya giggled. "Just you? Aren't you forgetting someone?"

Dimitri's lips curved upward just before he yawned. "Yeah, him too."

Shaking her head at his antics, Anya propped her chin on her fist and twisted to stare out of the window again. The lush pastoral landscape looked so different from the industrial drabness of the St. Petersburg she knew. She couldn't remember ever seeing such large expanses of green, open space.

Cows and farmland began to give way to buildings that gradually grew in size as they drew closer to civilization. Anya's mouth went slack as the outskirts of Stralsund came into view, the sharp angles of the skyline etched into a deep cerulean horizon.

She started to make Dimitri have a look and found he and Pooka had fallen asleep, Dimitri's head listing to the side as the bus bumped along the final stretch of road.

Anya studied his face against her better judgment. He'd transformed into a very beguiling creature while he slept, mouth soft and frown ironed out of his brow, long girlish lashes resting against his cheeks. Seeing that his hair had strayed into his face again, Anya used the tip of her finger to brush it aside without waking him.

She tingled all over, as if her skin had suddenly become effervescent, her lungs compressed by that sweet pressure she'd come to expect around him. The pins and needles in her feet indicated the weight of his arms had put her lower extremities to sleep, but Anya discovered she had no desire to move them.

She had to stop this. Watching Dimitri sleep was not in keeping with her newly formed plan to fall out of love with him, to make her interest as platonic and innocuous as it had been in the beginning. Nothing was. Everything he said or did now either made her laugh or warmed her heart. It was as if she had contracted some disease that eroded more of her good sense every day.

As Stralsund was a small coastal town, it didn't take long for them to rumble through the residential areas into the business district near the harbor. Excitement squashed all of Anya's thoughts as the bus rolled to a stop near the pier. She yanked her legs out of Dimitri's lap and swiveled onto her knees to scrounge around the floor for their things, making Pooka yelp and Dimitri wake with a start.

He groaned and rubbed his face, voice roughened by sleep. "What the hell, Anya..."

"Come on, let's go," Anya said, the din of their fellow passengers rising to stretch and gather their own bags nearly drowning her out. She stumbled down the aisle in her hurry on their row's turn to exit, Pooka under one arm and luggage under the other.

A brackish gust from the sea greeted Anya as she stepped off the bus onto the wet cobblestone road. She breathed deeply, taking a moment to gawk in awe. The tall, slender buildings here in the town's heart were built flush against each other in neat square blocks, butting against the edge of a narrow sidewalk where well-dressed residents hurried to their evening destinations. Wind and sea spray had faded their colorful facades, once painted vivid green or pink or orange, to the pastel hues of saltwater taffy. Anya had never seen a place so pretty.

But there was no time to play tourist. The three of them trotted the short distance to the docks the second Vladimir emerged from the packed bus. They had to push through the crowd of well-wishers and families locked in tearful embraces to reach the gangplank of their ship, a rusted behemoth of a vessel called the  _Tasha._

Dimitri handed their tickets over to the purser and led them to a passenger cabin, their home for the next five days. Anya trailed into the room behind them and set Pooka down with her bags, her eyes roaming the small space. This wasn't luxury cruise, that was for sure. The stains on the chairs by the door and the patches of wear in the matted carpet made that clear. But the bunk bed in the corner seemed sturdy, and the sheets and the sink attached to the wall near the porthole looked clean enough. Anya had slept in much worse.

No one wanted to stay inside after sitting on the bus for hours. Vladimir and Dimitri dumped their luggage and made a beeline for the upper deck. Anya started to follow suit and was surprised to find Dimitri still in the passageway, blocking her path.

He held up a mass of blue fabric with both hands. "Here, I bought you a dress."

Chuckling, Anya grabbed handfuls of the dress' enormous skirt and held it up high over her head. "Dimitri, you bought me a  _tent_. I know you want me plump and all, but this is just wishful thinking."

Dimitri stuck his face into the neck opening when Anya inspected the inside of the dress from the bottom. "What're you looking for?"

"The Russian Circus - I think it's still in here!"

Dimitri tugged the hem out of Anya's hands to toss the whole dress at her. She caught it against her chest and his lips twitched, but he didn't smile. "Come on, just put it on. The big white bag in the room is yours, too." He turned and jogged up the stairs to the upper deck before she could respond.

Curious and touched, Anya draped the dress over her arm and returned to the room, locking the door behind her. She spotted the bag and knelt to fish it out of the luggage pile. The paper sack crackled as she peeked inside with a small gasp of astonishment.

One by one, she reverently pulled out the contents: a metal hairbrush, satin ribbons and a pair of silk stockings, a large bar of soap in the shape of a heart - even a set of cotton pajamas in blue a few shades lighter than the dress. Anya stared at them in disbelief for a long time. No one had ever given her such fine things. God only knew how much Dimitri had had to spend on them. Anya knew she'd needed an outfit for meeting her grandmother, but all this?

Her gratefulness gave way to glee in a rush. Pooka growled playfully at her feet as Anya scooped up her goodies and moved them to the edge of the bottom bunk, kicking her boots into a corner and peeling off her dirty clothes. She held the soap to her nose, smiling and breathing in the soft rose scent. It almost hurt to tear off the pretty floral wrapping paper, but she dashed to the sink to scrub herself clean from top to bottom with a rough towel she found in the dresser against the far wall. Finished, she took her brush to the thick hair that now reached her waist, gritting her teeth in pain as she worked through the tangles.

She took her time pulling on the new stockings, careful not to snag the delicate silk, then eased the dress over her head. The soft fabric settled over her skin like a whisper.

Anya did a turn after slipping on her shoes again and faced the mirror above the sink. The dress may have been the perfect color, but it was at least two sizes too big. She used her belt to cinch it in at the waist as much as she could. Even on the first notch she could still fit her fingers beneath the leather band. Oh, well. It'd have to do.

She cocked her head at her reflection. There was still something missing...

Ah, the ribbons. Anya pulled her hair back, tying a big bow around it with the blue ribbon from the bag. Smoothing her hands down the skirt, she smirked at herself. She couldn't wait to see the look on Dimitri's face.

Pooka followed her upstairs as she made her grand entrance, shooting past her to lunge at a seagull that had landed on a coil of rope nearby. The deck was deserted except for Vladimir and Dimitri. They sat hunched over a tiny wicker table, embroiled in an intense game of chess. Neither of them looked up when Anya stepped onto the deck.

She dramatically cleared her throat and did a full pirouette, the skirt of the dress swishing around her ankles. She could see how a girl could become addicted to that kind of thing.

When the men finally glanced up, Vladimir looked at her like she'd shown up with a bag of cash.

Dimitri paled like he'd seen a ghost.

They both stared so long in silence, Anya scowled and put her hands on her hips. "You don't have to look  _that_  surprised that I cleaned up nice - "

"Wonderful!" Vladimir boomed, snapping out of his trance and rushing over to meet her. "Marvelous!" He took her hand and led her into yet another twirl, though she needed little encouragement. "And now that you are dressed for a ball, you will learn to dance for once as well. Come, Dimitri."

When Dimitri just gaped, Vladimir had to grab him by the elbow and usher him to Anya's side.

Dimitri gave an uncomfortable little laugh. "I-I'm not very good at it."

Anya did her best to ignore how adorable he looked when he was flustered and focused on her impromptu dance lesson. Vladimir had she and Dimitri walk through the steps of a simple waltz, the two of them barely touching and Dimitri watching the movement of her feet like it held the meaning of life.

Vladimir stopped them after a few moments, tsking like a disapproving aunt. "No, Anya -  _you_  don't lead," he said and gestured at Dimitri. "Let  _him_."

_Oh._

Dimitri's dark eyes met hers at last and Anya felt the shift, the almost imperceptible change that this time made the fingers he placed on her waist press a little firmer, the hand he curled around hers grip a little tighter. The gentle authority with which he held her made Anya want to follow him anywhere he wanted to take her.

Maybe she should've been nervous, too.

"That, uh...that dress is really beautiful," Dimitri murmured after a while as he spun them toward the stairs.

Anya looked up through her lashes, struggling to contain the prickling blush creeping up her neck. "You think so?"

"Yes," he breathed. "I mean, it was nice on the hanger but it looks even better on you." He held his arm up high so Anya could do a pivot beneath his hand. "You - you should wear it."

Biting back a smile, Anya let him pull her back to him again. "I think I  _am_  wearing it."

"Right," Dimitri said with another uncharacteristically nervous chuckle. "Of course you are." His expression changed from bashful to apprehensive to earnest in a heartbeat. "I-I'm just trying to give you a, um..."

Anya sensed what he was struggling to say. "A compliment?" She suddenly wanted him closer. She could feel the heat from his body and he was still too far away. Her hands ached to feel more of his skin so badly they trembled. She wondered what would happen if she entwined her fingers with his, but she didn't dare.

"Yes," Dimitri said, his voice deeper and more husky than she had ever heard it before. "Of course, yes."

Anya allowed Dimitri to maneuver her toward the opposite end of the deck, trusting him not to lead her astray. Everything around them became immaterial, fading into the background. The distant cry of seagulls and the crash of the sea were like an old love song on the radio played too low to hear the words. By the time he'd dipped and swirled and waltzed her back to where they'd begun, Anya's entire world had become Dimitri and the sunset smearing a trail of fire across the sky.

In reality, it could have been the constant rocking motion of the boat that caused the weakness in Anya's knees.

It could have. But it wasn't.

Dimitri's eyes continued to bore into hers and Anya lost her orientation. Her feet weren't moving across the wet planks of the ship's deck anymore; she was gliding with him across the clouds, into oblivion. "I'm...feeling a little dizzy," she said, only half aware that she was speaking.

Dimitri's face brightened. "Kind of lightheaded?"

Anya nodded. "Yeah."

"Me, too." He gave her a knowing grin and brought their dance to an end, taking both of Anya's hands into his. He stroked her palms with his thumbs, robbing her of the ability to reason or breathe. "Probably from spinning," he said, his voice like suede. "Maybe we should stop."

"We have stopped," Anya said, practically gasping.

Dimitri's gaze darted from her eyes to her lips and back again. "Anya, I..."

"Yes?"

Anya's whisper took the form of a question between them, feather light and weighted all at once, but she wasn't really asking. Her heart and mind and body were on one accord for the first time, and the same word that had just left her lips began coursing through her bones - not as a query, but an invitation. A demand. A plea.

She could feel whatever it was that constantly seethed between them like it was a living, vital thing, sometimes a low-level static, a white noise; other times charged and sparking and crackling like lightning in a storm.

Like it was right now.

The wind picked up, whipping tendrils of hair across Anya's cheeks and mouth. That same moving air seemed to have pushed Dimitri even closer, because now he was there, right there, near enough to hear her heartbeat fluttering in her throat, for her to smell the coming rain on his skin, nearly close enough for her to taste the salt spray on his lips -

"You're doing fine, Anya."

Anya hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes until she opened them to witness Dimitri's withdrawal, accompanied by a patronizing pat to the back of her hand. Wide-eyed and numb, she watched him walk away without a backward glance and vanish into the dark bowels of the ship.

She stared at the empty space he'd left behind, a burning ache in her throat as she swallowed convulsively. Dimitri had felt what she'd felt. Anya had no doubt. It had been right there in his eyes, a shimmering reflection of her own need. But he'd been able to walk away like it meant nothing. Like  _she_  meant nothing.

He might as well have spit in her face.


	25. Over the Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick & dirty Russian lesson: kroshka = baby, sweetheart

_Malenkaya._

That was the pet name for the czar's youngest daughter Dimitri had heard as a boy, on those rare occasions his kitchen duties took him through the royal living quarters.  _Malenkaya_  they called her, though its use wasn't nearly as frequent as  _shvibzik_ , the imp, which the oft-harassed servants kept in heavy rotation.

Dimitri would pick up suggestions of her presence - a flash of dark hair disappearing around a corner, a trail of crumbs leading to the study, a squeal of fiendish delight in the distance and its ensuing loud rebuke. It had made him happy somehow, to know someone in the palace felt so uninhibited when he himself felt so hopelessly trapped.

He had been elbow-deep into a tub of dishwater the morning a hand slipped out of the pantry, snatching a big yellow  _Antonovka_  apple right out of the barrel he still needed to sort. Dimitri had whipped back the tattered curtain to berate the thief and exposed the Grand Duchess Anastasia instead, her lacy gown inexplicably caked with mud. "Don't tell," she'd whispered, then flashed a toothy grin at him and fled before he could breathe again.

A spellbound Dimitri had made a ritual of sneaking fruit into her room after that, using the servants' door hidden in the wall to gain access. Smirking, he'd watch her frown in bewilderment at the apple she'd always find inside her enormous dollhouse. Until the cook beat him over the missing produce and he'd had to stop, their one-sided exchange had made Dimitri's bleak reality seem survivable. It hadn't mattered that the princess probably didn't remember him, not even when he shoved her through the same secret entrance to save her life.

Dimitri had had her features memorized in the seconds it took for the butt of the soldier's gun to find him. The shape of her mouth, her ears, her jawline. The sprinkle of freckles across her nose. The abject terror in her eyes.

No one in Russia knew her face better than he did.

When the news came that she'd gone missing, Dimitri used to pray she'd escaped to safety somewhere she could be free again. The way she had been in the palace kitchen, in that single luminous moment with him.

Then he grew up. And as the years passed with no word, he believed with a pessimist's certainty she was as dead as the rest of her clan.

Anya had always been an adult-sized double for the last Romanov, more so than any other girl Dimitri had ever seen. He was used to her specialness. Seeing her in clothes actually made for a female shouldn't have been surprising at all.

It shouldn't have, but...

Fucking hell.

He had not been prepared to see her in that dress.

A sunset of shimmering gold had displayed how she'd filled out, her cheeks full and pink and healthy, her sharp angles rounded off into soft, feminine curves. Even her hair had grown fuller and sleeker, trailing down her back to a waist still no wider than the span of Dimitri's hands.

The visual had left him caught painfully between past and present, between her truth and his lies. To his horror, everything about Anya was a flashback, down to the freckles he had never noticed before.

Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, Breaker of Chains, Princess of Resurrection.

_Nastya, shvibzik._

_Malenkaya._

Dimitri had turned around on that deck and she had lived again, watching and waiting. For him.

Dumbstruck, he'd stared until his eyes burned, but it was no use. The distinction was gone. He could no longer separate Anya from the Anastasia in his head.

Sentimentality had made him want to run to her. Primal, agonizing desire had made him want to run away.

And Vladimir - damn him - had wanted them to dance.

Dimitri had dreaded the physical contact, half-fearing her an apparition conjured by his memories and evidence he'd lost his mind at last. His knees had almost buckled when she took his hand. It had only helped a little to stare at her shoes during their first waltz, when Anya - unsurprisingly - took the lead.

But Vladimir would have none of that. He had had them switch roles and Dimitri made the fatal mistake of meeting her eyes. They were still flawless imitations of Anastasia's, sure enough, but Anya alone had stared back at him. Trusting him. Believing in him.

Anya was no royal specter. She was flesh and blood wrapped in the fragrance of crushed rose petals. A vibrant, living woman with the purity of her heart scrawled across her face for all to see.

It had been Anya's warm, supple body molding to Dimitri's embrace, letting him guide her around the deck as if he'd actually known what he was doing. Anya's smooth palm against his, her delicate fingers grasping at his shoulder. Anya's pouting mouth just begging to be kissed.

The indigo of the restless ocean had paled beside the gem-like hue of her eyes. The crimson fire of the sun loosening from the heavens had been no match for her radiance. Dimitri had babbled like an idiot, saying something about how nice she looked in the dress, and she had reddened like the flesh of a ripe plum. That was just Anya, too. The Anastasia in his memories was too brazen for blushes.

The longer they danced, the more vital Anya had felt in his arms. As necessary as breathing. Like she was really his, and he hers, and they had always been. And suddenly what Dimitri felt for her had transcended his childish obsession with a princess forever out of reach, imploding his heart like a supernova.

Their feet stopped moving and he'd fallen headfirst into those huge blue eyes, into everything Anya had been and ever could be, closing the distance between them once and for all because it had felt right, like coming home.

Then Pooka had barked somewhere behind him and he'd remembered.

He was going to  _sell_  her. Just like a pimp would. To a grieving old woman with nothing left to cling to but her money. That plan was still in motion, and Dimitri had fed Anya so many half-truths and outright falsehoods to that end, even he knew there was no going back.

Anya's lids had lowered, shuttering the brilliant gaze. Her lips had parted. The afterglow of twilight had turned wisps of her hair into tongues of flame. She was  _perfect_ , so lovely it broke his heart, and he'd never felt more disgusted with himself in his entire life.

All she wanted was a family. All Dimitri wanted was ten million reasons to forget every bad thing that had ever happened to him, and Anya was the sacrificial lamb on the altar of his greed.

She deserved so much better.

Pulling away from her had felt like being flayed. Even now, as he pretended to sleep while Anya and Vladimir conversed quietly behind him, he wasn't sure how he'd managed to keep from dropping to his knees and begging her forgiveness.

Vladimir let out a groan of pure misery from his spot on the floor next to Anya's bunk. Anya hummed in sympathy and whispered, "Are you alright? Do you need some of these?" Dimitri heard a rattling sound, like a bottle of pills being shaken. Most likely the medicine for motion sickness Vladimir had picked up in sick bay their first night at sea.

"I took several of them before dinner this evening," Vladimir said in a low voice. "I should be dead to the world momentarily." Dimitri had his back to them and could still detect the paternal affection in the older man's tone. Vladimir had clearly fallen for Anya's charms, too.

"Are you sure?" Anya said with a quiet giggle. "You look a little...green." The steady rasping sound in the background told Dimitri that Anya was brushing her hair for the third time that night.

"I am fine," Vladimir said mid-yawn. "Just riddled with envy... _look_ at him." He paused, and Dimitri knew Vladimir had thrown a glare his direction. "He can sleep through anything."

Dimitri suppressed his bitter chuckle just in time. He'd hardly slept at all the four nights they'd been on the ship. Not only had the strain of hiding in plain sight left him too edgy to rest, he'd had to remain vigilant upon the return of Anya's nightmares. It was probably her anxiety over Paris, but these were far worse than the ones she'd had back in the forest. Now she was sleepwalking.

After an exhausting day of feigning seasickness to avoid his companions, Dimitri would re-position himself to watch over her once he was convinced she was asleep. Every night he'd had to wrangle her back into her bunk after shielding her from bruising limbs on the furniture around the room. She'd cling to him each time, unshed tears clumping her lashes, and he'd have to peel her off and practically pin her down until she started snoring again.

Anya never remembered the bad dreams. Dimitri would pretend to be too sick for conversation or eye contact the next day, secretly wishing their French odyssey would be over soon and he'd never have to see her again.

It made him feel like an asshole, but it was a necessary evil. Dimitri couldn't trust himself to so much as look at Anya anymore. Or Vladimir, for that matter; if he let his guard down, his mentor would sniff out the stink of Dimitri's catastrophic misstep as a con. Then Vladimir would understand their ultimate scheme to exploit Anya had been endangered from within the ranks.

Because Dimitri was deeply, madly, desperately, inconsolably in love with her.

The upper bunk creaked as Vladimir climbed into bed. "Sleep well, Your Majesty."

If that medicine continued to work as well as it had the last few days, Vladimir would be knocked out cold in minutes. Dimitri settled in, prepared to stare at the ceiling for the next couple of hours.

"Dimitri."

He jumped with Anya's mouth so close to his ear. She was squatting on the floor near his sleeping pallet, a hand braced on the suitcase acting as his pillow.

The scent of flowers still clinging to her pajamas made him dizzy with longing. Closing his eyes, he roughly cleared his throat to strip the tenderness from his voice. "What."

"I think you should see the doctor on board if you're so sick."

Dimitri gritted his teeth. That wasn't concern in her voice; it was sarcasm. She knew he'd been faking. That was the trouble in dealing with a girl who had beauty and brains in equal measure, he supposed. A man became too distracted by her looks to notice  _she_  hadn't missed a thing.

"I'll live," Dimitri said, trying to ward off Anya's perceptiveness by wrapping the scratchy blanket more securely around him. "I just need to get off this ship." Off this ship, off this continent - to be anywhere Anya wasn't.

The question she posed rang with a hope he just couldn't acknowledge."Do you need anything? Water? A stiff drink, or something?"

Dimitri's heart ached, but he directed his response to the water stain on the wall. "I'm fine."

Anya sighed and leaned back on her heels. "Look, can you just...talk to me? We'll be in Paris tomorrow and I'm kind of going crazy here. I mean, I don't understand why you're being so - "

"Go to bed, Anya," Dimitri snapped, wincing inside as he silenced her. "It's too cold down here on the floor, anyway."

After a long, heavy pause, Anya sighed again and it came out like a hiss. "Here's something to help you  _sleep_ , then," she said, and pelted the back of Dimitri's head with a handful of pills before she stalked away.

Jaw tight, Dimitri brushed the small white pellets out of his hair. So she was angry.

Good. He could deal with angry.

The boat pitched and rocked in the storm that had blown in that evening. Anya's toiletries slid back and forth atop the dresser to its rhythm. She tossed and turned for a good half hour before finally passing out. Yawning, Dimitri crossed his arms over his chest and counted the nails in the wooden ceiling, waiting for Anya to stir as he knew she would.

The next thing he knew, Pooka was pawing at Dimitri's head, barking like someone had burst into the room to attack them.

Dimitri groaned, trying to shake the heaviness of his unexpected nap. He must have dozed off.

Grabbing the agitated dog, he sat up in the dark with a scowl. Pooka barked and wriggled and nipped at Dimitri's chin with an urgency that was unsettling. "Pooka! Pooka,  _what_?!"

Lightning illuminated the room and when Dimitri glanced at Anya's bed, wondering how she could sleep with all the yapping, his blood ran cold.

It was empty. And this time, the cabin door was open.

Dimitri jumped up, knocking the suitcases forming the perimeter of his bed from his path, hurling his body through the doorway. The ship listed to the starboard side as he exited, slamming him into the railing of the passageway. Dimitri couldn't feel it. Adrenaline pumped through his veins like a narcotic, numbing what was probably a fractured rib, propelling him up the stairs to the only place Anya could have wandered.

He emerged to find the sea attempting to devour the ship. He'd barely left the stairs when a rogue wave knocked him over like a bowling pin, filling his mouth and nose with briny water. Coughing and sputtering, he rolled onto his knees and stared out across the deck. The only light came from a tiny bulb above one of the maintenance doors, not quite enough to light the ground beneath it. Dimitri couldn't see her. He couldn't see  _anything._

A fear he'd never known sped his heartbeat into a vibration. If Anya had gone overboard, if he'd lost her before he could even - "ANYA!  _ANYA!_ "

Only the storm screamed in response, the wind tearing at his soaked clothes, the cold rain like needles in his skin.

Prepared to jump in after her if he had to, Dimitri reached out to feel his way to the light and smacked his hand on what felt like a ladder. The crow's nest. Maybe a miracle would let him see from up there.

He scrambled to the top as fast as the slippery rungs allowed, a clap of thunder booming inside his skull once he climbed into the large wooden basket. Dimitri squinted past the water streaming in rivulets into his eyes. Lightning ripped the sky in two for a fraction of a second, just long enough to make visible the lone figure on the opposite end of the deck. The one standing tall on the railing, a foot dangling over the edge.

 _Anya._  Oh, God. She was going to jump.

Lightning flashed again, highlighting the rope near Dimitri's side. There was no time to think about how stupid he was about to be.

He snatched it up and swung into thin air like a madman, screaming Anya's name, praying he landed near her and didn't break his neck in the process. The rough fibers set his palms on fire as he slid down. His feet hit the deck harder than he anticipated and he cursed when he tweaked his ankle. He somehow managed to keep his balance and before Anya could fall into the roiling ocean, Dimitri hobbled over, seized her by the waist and plucked her off the railing.

She fought him. Still caught in the throes of her nightmare, she resisted Dimitri like he was trying to kill her, kicking and swearing and pounding his back with her tiny fists.

Faint with relief, Dimitri set her down and shook her by the shoulders, hard. " _Anya!_  Anya, WAKE UP!"

Anya opened her eyes with a choked gasp. "Ivan," she screeched. "It's Ivan, he's - "

Dimitri couldn't make out the rest of her babbling when she buried her face in his chest. She was shaking so hard it was rattling him, too, and Dimitri wrapped his arms tightly around her if for no other reason than to hold them both still. He braced his cheek against her wet head. She fit so perfectly in his arms, he couldn't help himself. "Hey, hey...it was just a nightmare, _kroshka_ , it's alright..."

He flinched. The affectionate diminutive had slipped free without his permission. He hoped Anya was still half asleep and hadn't heard.

But her quaking reduced to shivers after a moment and she drew back, her clenched hands knotted into the fabric of his shirt. Lightning flashed again, unveiling the hair that hung in wet strings around her face, the rain and waves having turned it almost black. Her ribbon drooped in a lopsided bow next to her ear. Tears or rain spilled down her cheeks into her open mouth. Her saturated pajamas had turned translucent, and Dimitri could swear he could see the dark outline of her nipples through the fabric.

He held his breath. Now he was the one trembling.

Another pulse of light from within the black clouds showed him all that smoldered in Anya's eyes - the fading panic, the gratitude. The awakening hunger. She stared up at him as if he were everything she could ever need. Or want.

She broke the silence with his name, an open appeal. " _Dimoychka_..."

Just like that, Dimitri was done fighting the good fight.

Though the bulk of the storm had moved on into the west, its violence remained, suddenly living inside them both, crashing their mouths together so sweetly it was excruciating.

Dimitri grabbed Anya's face with both hands. Anya whimpered against his lips, pressing her body flush against him, and something like an anguished growl ripped from his chest. He realized he needed to feel her like he needed to live. He needed to feel her skin, everywhere, all at once, all over him.

Her hands slid up to his shoulders, latching on to either side of his collar, pulling him even closer. Instinctively, Dimitri pushed her with his body under the eave to the lighted service door nearby to shelter from the persisting rain. Anya's back thudded against the metal surface harder than he'd intended, but she didn't seem to care. When Dimitri's mouth opened to gasp, the tip of her soft tongue slicked out to meet his, and all was utterly lost. He obliged her with a reckless moan, lost in the taste of her, like strawberry nectar, his senses overloading as the endings of every nerve cried Anya's name.

His hands shook as he fumbled with the buttons at the top of her pajama shirt, baring the expanse of smooth, wet skin before the swell of her breasts. He'd started blazing a trail of kisses there but found he couldn't bring himself to abandon the sweetness of her mouth, better in reality than he had ever dared to imagine.

And it just got worse. There was no satisfying the pounding ache. Each fresh sting of Anya's nails digging into his back and every wanton roll of her hips made Dimitri want her to the point of pain, until he was just a vessel of mindless, hideous need and there was nothing, nothing else but her flesh and his flesh and the pulsing heat they created together.

He couldn't stop. His usual finesse with the fairer sex had abandoned him. Anya's sharp teeth nibbled his bottom lip and his caresses became adolescent gropes, his fingers slipping beneath her shirt and grasping her waist like a lifeline, their kisses growing almost sloppy with his increasing desperation. Anya gave as good as she got, matching him pant for pant and grunt for grunt. Dimitri was harder than he thought humanly possible and he knew she could feel it when she whined in frustration, clawing at his shoulders, her leg lifting like she was trying to climb him, allowing his pelvis to settle against hers like it was meant to, right where -

-  _fuck_  -

Dimitri filled his hands with palmfuls of her backside and Anya groaned, sending the vibrations all the way down his throat into his soul. Her lips and hands were both killing him and keeping him alive and he kissed her harder, unconsciously trying to convey his feelings without words, willing her to understand him, probably hurting her but unable to pull back. With his forehead braced against hers, their mouths never severing their connection, they shared the same breath for a dazzling instant and Dimitri caught a glimpse of the divine -

Anya detached him with a hard shove.

Dimitri staggered back a step and blinked at her in shock, unable to adjust to the swift change in circumstances. The wind assaulted him along with the awareness of his sodden clothes and he began to shiver from head to toe. It took a moment to fully register her withdrawal, and when he saw the furious disbelief on her face, he understood what he'd done.

She was vulnerable, and he'd taken advantage of her again. Preyed on her. Like he had from the beginning. Being in love was beside the point, as it turned out. It hadn't changed who he'd always been.

He took in a shuddering breath and tried to recover, knowing there could be no backpedaling over the line they'd just crossed. "Anya..."

Shaking her head, Anya whirled and ran off, her bare feet splashing in the puddles.

"Anya,  _wait!_  I'm sor -  _shit!_ "

Dimitri turned and punched the door with a snarl, not caring if he fractured a few bones. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve it.


	26. Two Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick French translation:
> 
> tartines - slice of baguette or toast with a sweet or savory topping
> 
> cafe au lait - coffee with milk
> 
> chocolat chaud - hot chocolate

Butterflies the color of rust fluttered as far as Anya could see in a gentle horde, moving as one all around her, their powdery wings rustling in her ears. All at once they stilled and drifted down to lay flat on the ground, transforming the infinite hills of the countryside to a blanket of bronzed leaves.

Anya smiled as she lay on her back, strangely peaceful despite her usual phobia for the insects, content to allow the rays of an unseen sun to warm her cheeks.

A spindly boy wearing gray striped beach pajamas appeared on the sun-drenched path nearby and beckoned with a huge smile. Three butterflies, all larger than his hands, hovered around him as if drawn by his sweetness.

Anya was drawn to him as well. Running her fingers through grass soft as fine cashmere, she rose from her hilltop perch in the shadow of a distant palace to greet him.

She knew him, this boy, though she wasn't sure how. Perhaps it was his blue eyes, or the familiar way he scrambled up the rocky escarpment ahead of her, scattering pebbles across her bare toes that curiously never scraped or bruised. Anya felt nothing but warmth and an immeasurable lightness, as if she had consumed a star that made her glow from within and buoyed her feet above the ground. She could have been scaling clouds as she followed the laughing boy and his butterflies with abandon, picking flowers and skipping after him once they emerged onto a wide dirt path.

Fields of wild lavender and wisteria seemed to tremble with joy at their passing, further perfuming the sweet air. Anya sniffed at her own flower, giggling at the sight of three waving young women wearing smiles even larger than the boy's. As he ran up the length of a large log to meet them, their doll-like features belied their mischievous intent when they spun and jumped off the log with screeches of delight.

Anya's heart glowed brighter. She had to know them, too. How else could their antics have been so endearingly expected? How else could she love three strangers so much?

And they had gestured for her to follow, hadn't they? Anya wanted desperately to join them, but balancing on the log proved a more difficult task than it should have been; her body kept wanting to fall backward instead. It took several attempts to reach what she discovered to be a deep, shimmering water hole, clean as pure rain. It was so clear she could see straight to the bottom, to the bare feet of the laughing girls who had gathered around a handsome bearded man beaming brightest of all.

The four of them tread water leisurely, the fabric of their pale swimming garments floating around them like elegant ghosts. The man called out to Anya, his grin a perfect reflection of her own. "Hello, Sunshine!"

Anya greeted him in kind with a shy wave.

He gestured for her to follow just as the boy had, with deep brown eyes that made Anya want to leap right into his arms.

The boy beat her to it. With a whoop he shot past her like a bullet, landing in a cannonball that sent the group in the water sputtering and shrieking with laughter. Anya found it so funny she could hardly stay upright.

Nothing had ever felt more natural. These people...this family...they had to belong to her. She had never felt more sure of anything. She couldn't remember her life before this exquisite moment, and the future had never mattered less than it did right now.

Still smiling, Anya held her breath and lifted a foot to step off the edge.

_Anya..._

It had the quality of ice cubes down her back, the echo of her name on a breeze. Dismayed, she glanced over her shoulder with a scowl, seeing and hearing no one, knowing it was impossible for someone to have called out to her here...

"Yes, JUMP!"

Fear speared through her as she turned back to the swimming hole. The butterflies and family had vanished, and the warmth and kindness of the handsome man had been replaced by the horror of Ivan's yellowed, lecherous smile.

"JUMP, PRETTY GIRL!"

Anya suddenly found herself amidst a sea of giant Ivans with the fleshy wings of bats and legs as tall as buildings. Drowning in his stench, she scrabbled to keep purchase on stone that had changed into a bottomless pile of human skulls.

Smaller Ivan creatures flew down in front and behind her, the beating of their disgusting wings a roar that filled her head. "Pretty girl" they sang over and over, their claws tearing at her arms and legs and belly, pulling her swimming suit and flesh away from her bones like wet paper.

Though a tormented howl rose from the pit of her soul, the sound remained trapped inside, reverberating through her body like the peal of a bell. Anya kicked and swung with her arms like a wild thing, but now she was sinking, moving in slow motion, her limbs ineffective and useless, entombed within a roiling sea of Ivans, unable to see, unable to breathe, ready to die, and then -

" _Anya_ , WAKE UP!"

_Dimitri._

Anya shivered anew.

Gunning for the first exit in sight like the devil himself was on her heels had been her only option. With both hands she'd slammed the door behind her with a deafening clank and held it there, not daring to move, as if she could keep out the remnants of the storm and the mayhem that had come with it.

That could have been hours ago, for all she knew. Probably was. She'd lost track of when she'd last felt sensation in her legs as she squatted on her heels in a corner of a utility closet, quaking with the wet chill. The darkness made the small space feel like a crypt - a far cry from the warm, comfy crawlspace at the orphanage she'd have sought out in a time of crisis.

It didn't matter where Anya ran to now. There could be no hiding. Not after that. She couldn't have felt more exposed if Dimitri had ripped her bedclothes off, the way she had practically begged him to.

She cringed and hid her face in her hands.

Her pulse may have finally slowed to a steady whir, but the hollow drip from the pipes all around her had yet to drown out the tumult inside her mind.

She'd been doing so well before that first night aboard the ship. Dimitri's brusque post-waltz dismissal had given her the fortitude to begin rebuilding the wall around her heart. Spending her waking hours with Vladimir, with his entertaining her for hours on end with tall tales of his glory days, made it easier for Anya to ignore Dimitri altogether. Especially once she realized he'd stooped to faking illness to avoid her.

Then her nightmares had returned with a new potency that undermined her resolve. They ripped through her subconscious with a vengeance, dredging up not only the terror of that Latvian kitchen but of faceless screams and gunfire and blood. The images would recede once she opened her eyes each morning, but she could still see them between blinks, like the aftermath of staring at a bright light.

Neither could she forget the way Dimitri would appear at her side every night like a miracle the moment she thought she'd met her end - his hands firm and strong on her trembling shoulders, holding her steady, guiding her back to safety, slaying the demons that had grown too strong for her to fight on her own. When he'd tuck her back into bed like a child, Anya would clutch him like a lifeline until she tumbled back into unconsciousness, into that black void where even nightmares couldn't reach.

Her need for Dimitri had only grown, surpassing the torment of the most desperate hunger pangs she'd ever felt.

By tonight, she had been starving for him. And Dimitri had materialized before her once again, pulling her back from the edge of destruction and literally saving her life - only to taunt her with her own ravenous desire.

Damn him.

 _Damn him_.

Anya held her hands in front of her face, glad the darkness shrouded their incessant shaking.

How had she become so goddamned  _weak_?  _When_? Her orphanage hiding place was supposed to be mere nostalgia, relegated to the frightened child she had been, the same who'd had no need for it in the decade since refusing to run from anything or anyone ever again. And she hadn't. Until Dimitri.

Now it seemed Anya was always running. Either with him or to him, after him or from him. It made her sick to her stomach.

She recalled her actions from the day they met and didn't recognize herself in the reflection of her memory. The mere expression on Dimitri's face dictated her every mood. His frown meant her world was ending and she couldn't function until she'd made him smile. He was the source of every impure thought that plagued her and the trigger for her body's violent, traitorous reactions.

Never had she been so impulsive and needy. Dependent.  _Pathetic_.

Worse yet, Dimitri's nighttime gallantry may as well have been committed by a kind stranger. Anya couldn't comprehend it. During the day he was another man, more withdrawn than he had been in the forest after Ivan. He hardly spoke to her or looked at her, only lay on his pallet and stared at the wall at night until he fell asleep.

Did he give a damn about her or not?

That she even had to wonder at this stage of their journey was an insult in itself. Since he couldn't give her the time of day when she was awake and lucid, Dimitri clearly didn't deserve anything Anya had to give.

She wished like hell she could let him have his way and leave him be, for good. And she despised herself because she couldn't. She couldn't  _not care_.

No matter how she battled against it - and she resisted mightily - Anya both loved and needed to hate Dimitri a little more fiercely every day. He'd become a living, breathing reminder of her weakness.

Maybe he  _was_  her weakness.

At the moment, Anya felt so physically drained she staggered to her feet. Her burning soles scraped raw by the rough planks of the deck, she winced as she hobbled to the door on numb legs and cracked it open to peek outside.

Ribbons of pink and coral light played across the deck. Dawn already, or just past. Anya spotted a uniformed crew member here and there, coiling thick rope or checking the crates of supplies along the gangway wall for storm damage, but no passengers. Specifically, no Dimitri.

Anya released the breath trapped in her chest. She was in no state to see him right now, physically or otherwise. Though she was a little disappointed not to find him asleep right outside the door, waiting for her.

She frowned toward her left and right, discovering she couldn't remember how she got to this part of the ship let alone recall how to get back to the stateroom. And she couldn't exactly stop and ask a deck hand in wet pajamas that may has well have been made of cellophane.

Biting her lip, Anya waited for a husky man with a burlap sack slung across his shoulders to lumber by before darting out of the closet and blindly around the corner, praying to everything holy she'd picked the right direction. She wasn't keen on having to saunter past other passengers in her unmentionables.

Everyone else making the trip to Paris must have been still asleep or already at breakfast, as Anya managed to find her way back to the stateroom without running into a soul. A quick press of her ear to the door confirmed Vladimir had kept with his daily ritual of arriving the moment they opened the dining room and had dragged Dimitri and Pooka with him. Thankfully, they'd left the door unlocked.

Anya slipped inside and locked up behind her, lips twitching into a smile at the towel and toiletries stacked neatly on her bunk by one of her roommates.

The smile faded as she dried herself with the towel and peeled off her soggy cotton pants and top, then shimmying into her stockings and dry undergarments. She hoped it hadn't been Dimitri on her bed. Her hands began to tremble again. Anya could feel him on some elemental level now, as if he'd stained the air with his essence, like lingering smoke. She half expected to look up and find him staring at her from across the room.

Wilting onto her bunk, she took solace in her folded arms with a whimper. She could still taste him when she wet her lips. Taste  _them_. The unique, tantalizing combination of sea spray and need, the hallmark of their kiss.

 _Kiss_...Anya shook her head at the absurdity of the term. Kisses were cold, wet pecks behind the woodshed in winter in exchange for extra bread at supper. Kisses were quick and simple, uncomplicated, no more complex than a hot spark in the night that was over in a flash.

Dimitri's mouth had called down hell fire in a thunderstorm, leaving a trail on her wet skin that had left her scorched.

The birds and the bees were old hat for Anya. The dated medical books in the orphanage library had filled in the gaps for whatever she hadn't caught going on in dark corners during her adolescence. She knew what all the kissing and rubbing and touching led to. She just hadn't understood what all the fuss was about until she'd crossed paths with Dimitri.

He had willfully treated her like shit for days and still she had whined and writhed in his arms like a cat in heat. Had burned all over, his every touch and stroke and press of his body against hers stoking the blaze until Anya thought she'd combust, until he was her personal cosmos and everything in it and she would have shamelessly welcomed whatever profane, glorious deed he wanted to do to her.

An animal, that's what she'd been. Totally out of control. As if some fiery beast had burst free from deep inside and Dimitri alone held the key to its cage. Now Anya didn't know whom she was more afraid of - Dimitri or herself. Neither of them could be trusted.

What they'd shared could never be coined an insignificant kiss. It had been a will-stealing, pride-robbing acquisition. Anya knew there was nothing she wouldn't do for him now. She couldn't deny that truth. At least her last shred of pride took over in the final hour, thrusting her anger at Dimitri's fickle behavior to the forefront of her mind so she could physically shove him away.

Shaking her head again to dislodge him from her thoughts, Anya jumped up and stalked across the room to hang up her nightclothes to dry and slide on her boots and blue dress, a bittersweet affair. Every stitch spoke of Dimitri, of how very naked they had been together despite the layers of fabric between them.

She had half a mind to wriggle through that damn porthole and dive into the ocean, intentionally this time, just to get  _free_.

Anya turned to brave the woman in the mirror, hoping the chaotic nature of her disposition didn't reflect in her appearance.

She wrinkled her nose. Her damp hair was a lost cause. She raked her fingers through the tangles and quickly wound it up into a tight chignon at the base of her neck, hoping it would dry with enough wave to be passable. At least her dress was still free of wrinkles, and someone had cleaned her boots as well. She chose not to dwell that.

Sharp eyes drifted over every inch of her reflection as Anya tried to think of anything requiring adjustment or repair, a reason to stay in the room and never have to leave. But she came up empty.

She took a deep breath and called upon her remnants of inner strength. Better to get it over with.

After snatching a yellow ribbon from her things, Anya locked up again and tucked the key with the now folded ribbon into the belt around her waist, then forced her legs into a fast clip down the stairs before she lost her nerve.

The scent of coffee and buttery pastries assaulted her as she pushed open the solid wood door to the dining room, a large, open space filled with square tables dressed in simple white linen and flooded with clean morning sunlight. Anya's stomach was wound too tight to even rumble.

Smiling travelers occupied nearly every available chair, dining on traditional French breakfast fare of  _tartines_  with fresh butter, blackberry jam,  _cafe au lait_  and  _chocolat chaud_. The silken French tongue dominated the myriad conversations, most of them punctuated with hearty laughter.

Anya's familiar ear picked up the Russian being spoken at a table in the back corner near a window, where Dimitri sat across from Vladimir, sipping from a tiny cup with his back to the front of the room.

Swallowing hard, Anya put some steel in her spine and raised her chin. Her knees may have been knocking, but she'd be damned if she let Dimitri or anyone else know just how much last night had shaken her to her foundation.

She breezed up to their table as if she were wearing a gown at a fancy soiree, a counterfeit smile tacked to her face. "Gentlemen, good morning!" She leaned down and lightly kissed a surprised Vladimir on both cheeks, considerably smoother after a fresh trim.

"Good morning, Your Highness," he said with a chuckle, peering at her over his glasses as he stood to pull out the chair to his right, catercorner to Dimitri. "It is rare to see you in such excellent spirits so early in the day."

"And why wouldn't I be?" Anya chirped as he returned to his seat. She bent to scratch Pooka behind the ears when he curled up next to her ankle under the table. "It's a beautiful morning."

As Anya glanced out at the tranquil ocean beyond the glass with mock appreciation, Dimitri's gaze bore down on her as distinctly as a full frontal assault. Her tenacity faltered when she turned to face him.

"Good morning, Dimitri." Anya's smile grew strained and it was a battle in itself to hold it in place. "I trust you slept well." Delicately clearing her throat, she reached for a baguette from the wicker basket on the table and dropped it on the small plate in front of her.

"Good morning, Your Grace." Dimitri carefully placed his cup on its saucer and regarded her warily, as if she were a rabid dog he was afraid of provoking to attack. Lucky for him, Anya was in no mood to bark or bite. She still felt too raw to look his way for long.

Why had she thought she was ready for this? Her cheeks felt like they were sizzling.

She should have just stayed in the room and let them bury her at sea.

"How are you?" Dimitri probed for chinks in her rusted armor with a loaded question.

Her hands shook in her lap. She clasped them together and tucked them within the folds of her dress. "Ah, fine. Could you pass the jam, please?"

Vladimir, who had been pouring Anya her own cup of coffee, gave them both an odd look but remained characteristically mute.

Dimitri slowly pushed the jam pot her direction. Anya studied the wrinkles it made in the tablecloth. "Are you sure you're -"

"I said I was fine." Her voice cracked and she had to clear her throat again. "Thank you." She reached for the jam with the very tips of her fingers to minimize the risk of skin to skin contact. God knew she couldn't handle that right now.

Dimitri's long fingers held it fast. "You clearly have something on your mind."

Anya examined the splotch of spilled coffee near his cup. When she spoke again, it came out as an embarrassing squeak. "Just breakfast."

Dimitri shifted and Anya could sense him leaning toward her. "We should talk. About...about what should happen today." A thick vein stood out of his neck and there was a strain in his words Anya's had never heard before, like simply speaking to her was painful.

They both still held on to the jam pot.

Anya really didn't want to do this. Her eyes finally flipped up in a hard glare. "Dimitri, let it go." And she did mean of everything.

His eyes did just the opposite.

"Anya, may I speak to you outside for a moment, please?"

"No need. Just pass the jam." She tugged a bit on the small ceramic pot again. Dimitri didn't give an inch, only set his mouth in a hard line.

"Dimitri, give me the damn jam." It took a tremendous amount of strength to keep her voice at an acceptable level. He was playing with fire here, though Anya had to admit it was much easier feeling irate than whatever it was that took hold of her last night.

"Anya, please."

She tried to scream "no" at him with her eyes alone. Dimitri just stared back.

Vladimir broke their silent tête-à-tête with a cough. "Is there something I should know -"

"NO!" Dimitri and Anya snapped at Vladimir in unison and startled everyone at the table.

Anya flushed cardinal red. If she didn't give in to Dimitri now, he'd have no issue with causing a scene in front of all the fancy French people surrounding them.

Sensing her reluctant consent he stood, never breaking eye contact.

Anya gave up. "Fine. I need some air anyway."

Dimitri was eerily quiet as he rounded the table to help her out of her seat and escort her to the side door, the tips of his fingers grazing the small of her back.

Anya swatted his hand away and stalked ahead of Dimitri the instant the door closed, arms crossed against the cool breeze whipping across the deck. The sound of his footsteps echoing her own filled her with a nauseating brew of dread and rage. Once she was sure they were out of earshot, Anya turned on Dimitri to let him have it.

"Anya, I'm  _sorry_."

His hasty apology aborted the barrage of curses Anya had been ready to send flying. Her lips parted to respond - heaven only knew what she had planned to say now - but Dimitri silenced her with a solemn head shake.

"No, listen - let me say this. I was wrong. Dead wrong. What happened last night never, ever should have happened, especially since you..." He trailed off, looking utterly repulsed. "I was only trying to help and took it somewhere I shouldn't have, and I sincerely apologize."

Was he disgusted with  _her_? How much worse could this get?

Shoving his fists into his pockets, he continued. "That was on me, okay? You didn't do anything wrong." Not once did he look up from the wet planks at their feet. "I respect you, and I will never take any liberties like that again. You have my word."

Mute, Anya stared until he finally met her eyes with a distinct ruddiness to his cheeks. So he didn't want to talk about the nightmares. Fine by her; she'd just as soon forget. But if he was in a talking mood, she was going to get  _some_  answers out of him. It pissed her off all over again that it seemed he felt guilt for what he did, not due to some elaborate manipulation, but because she was some kind of damaged doll he felt pity for. "I know I didn't do anything wrong, Dimitri. I don't need you to tell me that."

Her terse statement threw him, made him stumble over his next words. "I-I know, I just didn't...I didn't want you to think -"

"Think what? That you wanted to kiss me?" Anya asked in as pragmatic a fashion as she could, eyebrows raised. If she could minimize their interlude herself and get him on board, perhaps they could put the entire messy business behind them.

The color drained from Dimitri's face. " _What?_  I don't know what you're talking -"

"Did you?"

His face contorted with disbelief at the turn of their conversation, and Anya reveled in having the upper hand for once. She stepped closer.

"Did I what?" His voice had become a throaty whisper.

"Did you want to kiss me?"

"I..." Dimitri erupted with a ragged sigh and he looked out in the distance at length, fingers clawing his hair away from his face. His dusky eyes burned when they returned to her and Anya had to gird herself against their heat. "Maybe I had some...thoughts."

Anya's heartbeat went from zero to a hundred in a second flat. Only sheer will kept her from launching herself at him. She barely managed to keep her face composed. "Fine. So if you wanted to kiss me, do you honestly think last night would have happened if I hadn't wanted it to?"

"What are you saying?"

Anya started to pace, throbbing in too many places to keep still. "I'm saying it's normal. We spend a lot of time together...it was bound to happen. But don't read too much into it." She wished she could heed her own advice.

Dimitri paused for a beat, and then: "Okay."

Anya stopped pacing and pinned him with a black look, hands on her hips. "What's  _not_  normal, however, is how you've been ignoring me all this time when..." She hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. "When I...need your help the most." Crossing her arms again, she added, "Especially since you supposedly 'respect' me so much."

"You're right." As Dimitri rocked back on his heels like a little boy receiving a scolding, Anya commanded her heart not to warm at the sight. "Anya...I didn't know what to do, and I handled it badly. I'm sorry about that, too."

Anya broke the ensuing silence first, unable to bear the tremendous weight of all that remained unsaid between them, but moved by his sincerity. "Well, well... two apologies in one day. This has to be some kind of record." She'd said it to be mean, but she couldn't resist the tiny smile toying with her lips.

Dimitri noticed as he look up through his long lashes and treated her to the trademarked smirk she hadn't seen in days. "I wouldn't get used to it...but does that mean I'm forgiven? Are we friends again?"

Biting her lip, Anya glanced at a seagull swooping low overhead to keep her grin in check. The yo-yo effect the man had on her emotions was making her dizzy. She answered him with narrowed eyes. "I thought we were 'amicable acquaintances'."

He barked an incredulous laugh at her throwing his own words from the pub in Latvia - before all the madness - back in his face. Anya's blood sang at the sound of it.

"Same difference." He shook his head, still chuckling.

Anya let out a long, slow breath, feeling so much of the tension over the past week seep away. "In any case, that's twice now that you've saved me. So, thank you. I mean it."

Cheeks flushed once more, Dimitri inclined his head. "I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"I'll do my best to steer clear of sticky situations from here on out."

Laughing again, Dimitri placed a hand on his chest and said, "Both myself and my poor heart thank you."

"You're welcome." Anya grinned.

Each watched the each other until Dimitri's voice ended the hushed moment this time, much more at ease than it was at the beginning of their exchange. "Come on, let's eat some breakfast before we have to disembark. You know you want a whole baguette."

Anya snorted, still dazed with relief, and let him usher her back toward the door to the dining room. This time she let the fingers that again found the small of her back linger there, enjoying the secret shivers they produced. "Are you kidding? I was planning on eating yours, too."

Dimitri's head fell back with a hearty guffaw as she passed through the door in front of him.


	27. The Bitterest Pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick translation:
> 
> crème fraîche = European sour cream
> 
> chocolat chaud = hot chocolate
> 
> kotik (Russian) = pussycat

It was here.

Dimitri and Vladimir had been preparing for this day for the entirety of Dimitri's adulthood, rehearsing their roles like top-billed actors at the famed Mikhailovsky Theatre - or for Dimitri, at least, like soldiers readying for war.

He should have been busy quelling his own trembling anxiety to ensure Anya was in fighting form for the Dowager's cousin, an interaction likely to be the most important of both his and Anya's lives.

All he seemed capable of at the moment, however, was leering whenever the tip of Anya's tongue found traces of  _chocolat chaud_  hiding in the corners of her mouth, or at the distinct roundness of her bosom when she absently brushed flakes of croissant from the front of her dress. Pulse thumping erratically, his thoughts swarmed around a singular focus:

She wanted him.

She tasted like springtime.

He wanted her, forever, in every possible way.

He was capable of forfeiting all the riches in the world just to keep her to himself.

Which was insanity if he had ever heard it.

In his defense, Anya's matter-of-fact breakfast confession had turned him inside out. He had only pushed her the night before as far as she'd wanted to go herself by her own admission. Which meant she had hungered for it just as much as he had.

The blunt statement served up with her piercing sapphire stare had stolen the oxygen right out of Dimitri's body, and as he sat across from her sipping inky black coffee he couldn't taste, he had yet to get it back. Each blink brought a new and creative vision of he and Anya in various states of undress, lips and limbs entangled atop their very table amidst the bread crumbs and rumpled white linen. He worried he may never breathe easy again.

As he continued to watch her smile and laugh with Vladimir, ten million  _rubles_  began to take on the appeal of a pile of wet ashes.

The sickening guilt planted in his gut by the belief that he'd treated Anya little better than Ivan had dissapated so suddenly, Dimitri still felt dazed. He didn't dare hope she lived on the same emotional plane that he did, but confirmation that his intense physical need wasn't rooted in delusion had opened a vista to a tantalizing new universe. And god, was he tempted to cross the threshold.

On the other side, she could be his and his alone.

Anya, her mood vivacious now as she chatted animatedly with Vladimir over the remnants of their morning meal, made Dimitri's heart trampoline off his liver and into his throat with every heated glance she threw his way - and there were many. She spoke to him directly a time or two, but he couldn't muster the brain power to do much beyond smile and nod and rub his palms compulsively against his trousers under the table to absorb the sweat.

Dimitri surfaced from his brooding to find both his companions standing up to leave.

"We're done?" He frowned briefly, disliking the vague uneasiness of missing something critical. "I thought Anya was still working on baguette number three." Vladimir snorted and Dimitri felt unreasonably proud that at least his wit had yet to fail him.

"Shows how much you pay attention; that was two croissants ago." Anya was multi-tasking, pulling a face while turning her head to avoid Pooka's swiping tongue. She cuddled him closer against her chest and said, "Are you coming or what? We still need to pack."

"Already?" Dimitri glanced at his scratched wristwatch. "I thought there was no rush."

Anya looked heavenward, shaking her head. "Could you wake up, please? Vlad  _just_  said we disembark in forty-five minutes, Dimitri, so move it. I'm beyond ready to see dry land again." She gave him another pointed look and flounced out of the dining room.

Dimitri watched her go in wonder, marveling at her capacity for nonchalance when he could hardly think for all the blood still pooled between his legs.

Vladimir cleared his throat with purpose behind him. When Dimitri swiveled to find his mentor's good humor had dissolved into a pensive squint, he stood and slid his chair under the table, Vladimir's gaze as uncomfortable as a wool cloak in June.

Dimitri wished he could throw it off. Instead, he tossed up a hand like a shield against the rebuke he sensed was coming as he headed for the door. His partner said nothing as the two of them wound through the crowded tables, not until Dimitri tried to brush past him through the exit to continue down the hall.

"Are you certain you will be able to handle this?" Vladimir asked quietly.

Dimitri's practiced evasion was as smooth as  _crème fraîche_. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do," Vladimir said without hesitation, his huge hand landing on Dimitri's shoulder and halting his forward momentum.

Dimitri obliged him and stopped. He looked at the faded carpet, the paneled wood walls - anywhere but at his dearest friend - but he already knew his goose was cooked. He couldn't hide it anymore. His love for Anya had outgrown the confines of his heart and possessed him fully, inhabiting the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he looked at her. It seeped out of his pores like a self-replenishing toxin for which he had no antidote. He reeked of it, and he knew now he'd be lying to himself if he believed Vladimir was ever unaware of his treachery.

It made him feel exposed and vulnerable, the last things you could afford to be while running a con of such dangerous complexity. The only defense left in his arsenal was to deflect and deny, deny, deny.

Before Dimitri could toss out a snide retort, Vladimir walked around to stand tall before him, measuring Dimitri over his glasses through a paternal glare. "You are much worse than I thought."

"What?"

The older man closed his eyes with a weary sigh, his broad shoulders sagging. In an instant he seemed ten years older. His voice was gruff when he finally spoke, with a hint of tenderness that triggered a new tide of guilt in Dimitri.

"Dimitri, I need for you to hear me." Vladimir's words were measured, each one heavy with their shared unspoken history. His hand found Dimitri's shoulder again and squeezed. "Since the first day, anything you have needed, I have provided. Anything you have needed me to do, I have done it." He let his last words smoke in the air, long enough to rouse the familiar ache of loyalty in Dimitri's chest. "If you cannot do what is required, you need only tell me. I will abandon all of our plans, if that is what you need from me, but you  _must_  tell me before we exit this ship and the things we do cannot be undone."

Dimitri physically winced at the blow to his pride. His own acceptance that Anya had laid waste to his judgment was a difficult enough cross to bear, but to hear that even Vladimir doubted his abilities at this point was shockingly painful.

He recoiled like a cornered animal. "I can do any and everything I need to do, Vlad," he said with a snarl. "Don't you worry about that."

Regret rushed in when hurt flashed across Vladimir's expression, quickly vanishing behind a mask of impassivity. Dimitri hurriedly offered a smile that was taught with remorse. "But don't think I don't appreciate your worrying like a mother hen, old man." Vladimir shook his head sadly but Dimitri quickly retreated down the hall to avoid the emotional lecture.

He entered their stateroom to find Anya flitting around like a hummingbird in a lily garden. Her nervous energy was palpable, bristling the hair on his arms as he crossed the room to gather his own things. Pooka trotted over to nip at the hem of his trousers, freshly mended courtesy of the tailor in the ship's laundry room. Anya was humming something vaguely familiar, but when Dimitri looked up to ask what it was, she stopped and grinned at him instead, rendering him too dumb to remember his question.

The energy shifted again when Vladimir arrived a short time later. He didn't speak, only gave Dimitri a troubled glance before turning away to tend to his bunk. Dimitri responded in kind with undue concentration on their luggage. Thankfully, Anya's incessant chatter to no one in particular buffered the tension.

Dimitri fought to subdue his displeasure and hauled the heaviest suitcase to the door. Vladimir hadn't looked at him like that since he was a child, when he was still naive enough to make the stupid mistakes that nearly got them both killed. His friend was clearly worried for him, which was understandable, but Dimitri saw pity in his eyes as well. He'd hated it all those years ago; he loathed it now even more so.

He didn't have time to stew in it. Anya, who could not seem to sit still to save her life, squealed at the first sight of shoreline through the porthole and had their entire party and all their belongings shoved into the crowded hallway in a matter of minutes.

It took another hour for the ship to dock, during which the line to the exit had backed up all the way down the corridor and past their room. They rubbed shoulders with the other passengers laughing and speaking  _en Francais_  in an excited buzz around them while Vladimir kept Anya occupied by quizzing her on the royal family tree. She made a game of it, giving Pooka a nibble from a napkin-wrapped treat from breakfast for every correct answer. Watching them over his shoulder, Dimitri had to smile at Pooka shivering with excitement in the crook of Vladimir's elbow. The pup was already so plump from weeks of table scraps he could no longer fit inside Vladimir's coat.

The line inched forward and Dimitri's mind drifted back to Anya, as it always did. He wondered how she'd react if he put off meeting with Sophie for a while...perhaps even indefinitely. Would Anya be patient? Upset at the questionable delay? Or was it possible she would be so enamored with her new French reality, she wouldn't notice if they never met the Dowager at all?

Surely Anya fulfilling her lifelong dream of living in the City of Light would soften the blow. It was a stretch, but that was the best case scenario, wasn't it? They could always find another way to get their hands on some cash. Of course not nearly as much, but they could survive. Vladimir could take care of himself. Dimitri could finally start over, and he and Anya could build something in Paris - like a real life. Together.

A wistful smile grew as Dimitri shuffled forward and almost stumbled into the gentleman in front of him.

Maybe he should tell Vladimir to call the whole thing off. He'd just have to come up with a plausible reason for why a meeting with the Dowager was no longer an option. Vladimir just wanted to see him happy, so he was an easy sell, but there was a good chance it would take a bent knee and some diamonds to get Anya on board. Not that Dimitri minded in the least.

One more egregious lie would be a small price to pay for that kind of happiness.

Anya let out an audible gasp when it was their turn to step out onto the ship's gangplank, just as France burst in to greet them on a chilled, feisty breeze laced with juniper and freesia flowers. Even cynical Dimitri had to close his eyes for a moment just to breathe it in. If Russia had stunk of hard times, this place had to be perfumed by the collective optimism of its inhabitants.

It was no wonder - there were signs of prosperity everywhere. The  _Tasha_  was one of a multitude of ships that clogged the busy harbor of  _Le Havre_. Dimitri saw at least a dozen others, picking up or dropping off wooden crates the size of trucks or depositing a fresh flood of humanity onto the docks to mix with those already milling around under a sea of hats in every style and color. Fishermen in sailboats and dinghys dodged the larger vessels to drag in the morning's first catches. Street vendors lined every inch of the boardwalk, their loud voices competing with each other and the cacophony of the harbor for sales of everything from spices to shoe polish.

Getting to the ground was a slow process, as groups of people from the boardwalk kept rushing the gangplank with shouts of welcome to meet friends and family exiting the ship. Dimitri descended a few steps at a time with Vladimir and Anya close behind, musing on how the of salty ocean air combined with the ordinarily incongruent scents of coal smoke, fried dough, cooking meat and raw fish strangely made his stomach growl.

Back on terra firma at last, the party of three pushed their way on wobbly legs through the crush of well-dressed French bodies to the taxi stand along the boardwalk a block or so from the docks. Dimitri could hardly pretend that paying the boorish driver his steep fare for a ride into Paris didn't hurt. The local currency they'd exchanged aboard the ship for their fistful of German bills felt paper thin in comparison.

He and Vladimir exchanged a look as they piled into the car and began bumping down the winding dirt road through the rural outskirts of the city. God only knew what they'd do for money if things didn't go as planned today, but Dimitri couldn't deal with that now. He had his hands full with Anya, who was bouncing off the walls of their hired car.

"Anya, you have  _got_  to relax," he said, trying to keep his voice soothing yet loud enough to be heard over the noisy road beneath the car's tires. Anya didn't seem to hear him. She pressed her nose to her window, looked under the seat, pivoted on her knees to look out of the rear window, then finally turned again to regard Dimitri, her grin manic and showing every last one of her teeth. As soon as the goofy smile had appeared, her face crumpled and she covered it with hands that visibly shook.

"Dimitri," she said into her palms, muffling her words. "Oh god, I can't breathe. I think I'm gonna pass out."

Dimitri chuckled. The contrast between the audacious, confident Anya he was accustomed to and the frazzled ball of nerves she'd suddenly become was comical. If the stakes weren't so high, he'd have teased her for looking so adorably out of her element.

"No, you won't," he said instead, grabbing one of her hands and squeezing lightly. Personally, he was terrified beyond belief, but years of lying for a living made it much easier to set his fears aside.

She calmed at his touch and stared at her hand nestled inside his. Dimitri's mouth went dry.

"Come on - tell me again where Uncle Boris is from," he prompted, a tool of distraction as much for himself as for Anya.

She didn't answer. With the very tip of a fingernail, she began to trace the lines of his palm - a harmless gesture, but the erotic shivers it caused made Dimitri grit his teeth so hard he thought a tooth would crack. It took the willpower of a god to keep a handle on his manhood.

He managed to gently withdraw his hand with reassuring smile intact. Even then Anya remained only half aware, her body present but her mind elsewhere. She stared at the back of Vladimir's seat in front, chewing her lip.

She was silent for so long, Dimitri jumped a little when she spoke again.

"What if Sophie doesn't recognize me?" Her voice was tiny, strained. She lifted eyes that gleamed with unspent tears, seeking an affirmation, anything to tether her to the present.

Dimitri easily flipped on the charm. "She  _will_ , I promise you. You're Anastasia. You're only sitting down with the woman to tell her who you are."

Knotting her hands into the folds of her dress, Anya sucked in a giant breath and released it with a shaking sigh as she looked away. "It's just that - "

"Just what?" Dimitri's brows knit. She fell quiet again as she chose her words, and waiting for her to speak was like watching storm clouds gather.

Anya spoke to her lap in the same quiet voice and Dimitri unconsciously leaned in to hear her better. "A few weeks ago, I had no past at all." She gave a dark chuckle. "Or future, for that matter," she added. "Now, I'm trying to remember and recite an entire lifetime and I just feel... _overwhelmed_."

"I wouldn't expect anything different," Dimitri said, reaching over to pat her folded hands. "But that's why you got me." He grinned and held it there until she finally looked up at him.

Coaxing a smile out of her little by little, Dimitri realized he didn't have the heart to actively sabotage her efforts. He could see he and Vladimir had succeeded in making her believe their grandiose falsehood with all of her being. Anya's face was lit with such pure hope it almost painful to witness.

He had no training-based reason to believe she would, but Anya would have to slip up, to miss some tiny important detail that would reveal her to be the beautiful, manufactured fraud that two extraordinarily talented con men had molded her to be. She would be humiliated and devastated when it was over. And Dimitri decided he would open his arms and be the soft place for her to fall.

Anya laughed at herself under her breath. "God," she said, wiping at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. "I'm gonna be a mess before we even get there." She chuckled again when Vladimir wordlessly offered a clean handkerchief over his headrest. "Thanks, Vlad."

"So do you wanna try it again?"

The fire had rekindled in those eyes when they returned to Dimitri, the blue flames that had scorched his soul. "Yeah, let's do it." After handing back the handkerchief, Anya sat up straight and squared her shoulders. "I've got this." Uncertainty sneaked back in for a second, making her falter and her eyes widen for guidance. "Right?"

Dimitri nodded with a lopsided smile. "I never had any doubt, Your Grace. Now, where was Uncle Boris from?"

"Moscow?"

Of course she knew the correct answer. She had a sense of people and place that had always intrigued Dimitri. They eased back into the familiar cadence of their practice sessions, with Vladimir joining in here and there to try and throw Anya off balance. She parried successfully every time, boosting her morale and making the three-hour commute to the Parisian suburbs in the uncomfortable cab fly by for Dimitri.

He was about to ask Anya again about the Czar's favorite desert when the cab ground to a halt. Beyond the fingerprint-smudged window was the most opulent private home Dimitri had ever seen, reminiscent of what the Winter Palace had been in its prime but with a distinctly French classical flair - all elegant archways and heavy blush stone.

Jaw slack, he turned to Vladimir who was waiting with a knowing grin. "Sophie's house," he said. "I visited her here often."

Dimitri shook his head with an answering smile, knowing from the sparkle in Vladimir's eye what kind of visit he was alluding to. He was glad his partner seemed to be over their earlier tiff. Hopping out of the cab to help Anya from her seat, he assisted Vladimir and the driver with the luggage strapped to the top and rear of the car. They shuffled everything to a hidden alcove in the side of the house that Vladimir pointed out and the cab driver was off.

Go time.

Dimitri turned to Anya. "Ready?"

She nodded. "As I'm ever gonna be."

They passed through the wrought iron gate, the two of them following Vladimir down the flagstone walkway to an ornately carved front door. Dimitri could hear his heartbeat. The droning of bees in the manicured rose bushes beneath the huge picture windows sounded impossibly loud.

"Oh, Anya - one more thing."

Anya turned back to Dimitri with wide eyes.

"If you never do anything else I ask you to, please leave the dog outside today. He won't go anywhere."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, Dimitri." She looked down at Pooka waiting at her feet and smiled. "Pooka, stay. Be a good boy."

Pooka just wagged his tail and barked.

Vladimir knocked and Dimitri held his breath.

The door swung open and a slim, dimpled maid appeared with an expectant expression, complete with upswept hair, white cap, short black dress and tiny white apron. " _Oui, Monsieur?_ "

Just as Vladimir cleared his throat to speak, the maid squeaked as her tiny body went flying out of view, courtesy of a large woman with a blonde bob wearing a mass of violet ruffles.

"Sophie Stanislovskievna Somorkov-Smirnoff!" Vladimir exclaimed with outstretched arms as she struck a seductive pose in the doorway, the maid looking chagrined in the shadows behind her.

Anya lifted her eyebrows in surprise at Dimitri behind her and he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. The demure aristocrat Vladimir had described in the past was not at all who had answered the door.

Sophie giggled like a schoolgirl, quite the sight for someone who was clearly all woman with a curvaceous bustline that nearly eclipsed the view of the foyer.

"Vladimir Vanya Voinitsky Vasilovich," she said breathlessly, offering her hand to Vladimir and tittering some more as he planted kisses up the length of her bare, fleshy arm to her shoulder. "Well, this is so unexpected!" Her Russian was crisp and comforting, unsoftened by her years in France. "Oh! But look at me, where are my manners? Come in - come in, everyone!"

She held on to Vladimir and towed him inside. Dimitri followed Anya, his hand finding the small of her back to guide her along. He spied Pooka trying to sneak in as well. With a smirk, he quickly closed the heavy door to keep him outside where he belonged for once.

As they filed into the luxurious drawing room with its rich velvet drapes and gilded furniture, Sophie appeared quite outdone. "I'm simply palpitating with amazement and shock and surprise - all three!"

Dimitri and Vladimir beamed, using their bodies to subtly block Sophie's view of Anya behind them until the last possible moment, just as they'd practiced.

Sophie looked happy but puzzled, the blue of her eyes made more noticeable by the eyeshadow that matched the hue of her couture off-the-shoulder gown. She batted them artfully at both men before turning to the eldest. "Vladimir, darling, I haven't seen you in years...what are you doing here?"

That was their cue.

"I have someone I would like you to meet,  _kotik_. May I present her Imperial Highness, the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolayevna," Vladimir announced, and Anya glided forward between them with grace and poise and head held high, without a hint of jitters, looking every inch a royal princess.

Sophie's demeanor changed instantly, her mouth dropping open and eyes growing large. "Oh, my heavens," she said quietly as she circled Anya, skirts rustling. "She certainly does  _look_  like Anastasia...but so did many others."

She stopped in front of Anya, her expression cold. "Where were you born?"

"At the Peterhoff Palace." Anya didn't blink.

"Correct." Sophie pursed her painted pout. "And how does Anastasia like...her tea?"

Anya smiled. "I don't like tea; just hot water and lemon."

"Good." Sophie narrowed her eyes. "Come, have a seat - all of you."

Much too nervous to sit, Dimitri took up a post by the enormous fireplace near a bookshelf full of old family photos. Anya perched on the edge of the nearest chair while Vladimir settled onto the plush couch at the center of the room next to Sophie, whose sharp features were now tight with suspicion. She cast an irritated glance at Vladimir, as if annoyed this visit was years in the making only for him to bring her a lost Romanov. Vladimir merely gave her a shrug and a big smile.

All business, Sophie got right to it with detailed, rapid-fire questions about everything from Romanov birthmarks to toilet habits that went on nearly half an hour. Anya answered every last one correctly with a benevolent smile, serene and unbothered.

She was performing so much better than Dimitri had ever hoped. Vladimir looked beside himself with barely contained glee, but Dimitri knew they weren't out of the woods yet. This was going much too smoothly. Sophie would have to ask something impossible for Anya to know. She had to.

His stomach knotted. But what if she didn't?

"Finally," Sophie was saying, "you'll most likely find this an impertinent question, but indulge me. How did you escape during the siege of the palace?"

Dimitri's heart froze. That was it. That was the inevitable question. Three people on the planet knew the answer and only one of them was in the room. The Empress would not have leaked the one piece of information that would guarantee her riches to any fool who tried to create an Anastasia from scratch. And Dimitri had tried for so many years to forget that he had never spoken of it to anyone, let alone made it part of Anya's royal curriculum.

Anya had paused for a long time. Dimitri knew she was frowning at her lap as she mentally scrambled for an answer despite his inability to see her face with her back to him.

Leaning against the mantle and running a clawed hand through his hair, he didn't know if he felt relief or panic. He didn't want Anya to have a future that didn't include him. He also couldn't bear to see her fail. Jesus, she still hadn't answered. Maybe he should distract them, knock over the vase on the pedestal nearby or pretend to faint on the Oriental rug -

"There was a boy, a boy who worked in the palace. He...opened a  _wall_..."

Dimitri raised his head.

No, he hadn't heard her right. Anya's voice had grown so soft he'd misunderstood.

Anya giggled in embarrassment, trying to recover. "I'm sorry, that's crazy - walls opening...The memory is a little faint, I suppose."

She'd said it again. The wall. The hidden door in the princess' room that was stormed by the soldiers, but not before hiding away the last two members of the royal family. No one knew but Dimitri, the Dowager, and...

The universe tilted on its axis.

Up was down.

Black was white.

And Dimitri's Anya was the Grand Duchess Anastasia of house Romanov.

He quit the room and lurched for the nearest exit with what felt like a blade in his heart, paying no heed to the celebration that had erupted in the room behind him. There was no Anya and never had been. Not for him.

He was going to be sick.


	28. La Ville Lumiére: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading :)
> 
> Kotik = pussycat
> 
> Zvezda moya = my star
> 
> Mon dieu = my god (exclaimation)
> 
> l'Accordéonaire = French accordion
> 
> XOXO
> 
> J.F

A scorching panic blazed through Anya's blood, making her grip the armrests of her chair until her knuckles turned white.

_The escape!_

How the hell had she not seen this coming? Combing through her most recent recollections for clues, she couldn't remember having had a conversation with either of her traveling companions on the topic at all.

She could have murdered Dimitri then and there - Vladimir, too. After countless hours of lessons and lectures, of practice and recitation until she was depleted both physically and mentally, neither one of them thought to prepare her for the most obviously important question in the world?

This wasn't on her! How was Anya to know the hierarchy of significance for the information they'd been feeding her for weeks, let alone be aware of what was missing? She had been too busy overloading her brain with a glut of data it could barely accommodate - it was not her duty to admonish her supposed "professors" that they may have left something critical off the review for her final exam.

If it were possible, Sophie's already chilly demeanor frosted over more with each passing moment of Anya's silence, her eyes mistrustful slits. Her lips curved into a ghost of a dubious sneer as she cocked her head and waited for Anya to speak, small manicured hands clasped in her lap. Vladimir, on the other hand, looked as if he were having a stroke.

Anya couldn't see Dimitri at her back, but she could imagine he was in a similar state.

She stared at the gleaming wood floor and its intricate pattern, fuming just beneath the surface. Her entire future hinged upon a wild guess...

But perhaps not. She was Anastasia, wasn't she? Anya thought back on the beginning of her French crusade to the day she'd visited the Winter Palace, of her strange and intimate familiarity with a place she had never laid eyes on before. And that was prior to Dimitri introducing the concept of a lost royal heritage.

The dusty silver platter in the banquet hall came to mind, as did the bearded man and little girl in the emerald dress that had flashed through her mind's eye back then. Probing deeper with a frown, she took a breath and scraped the recesses of her memory for something - anything - to answer Sophie's question before it was too late.

Yes,  _there_  - a dark room bathed in a red glow from nearby windows, as if fire burned outside. A dollhouse. A bed. And a skinny boy with dark hair and equally dark eyes, wide with fear. But where had he come from?

"He...opened a  _wall_..."

Anya started, realizing she'd spoken her musings aloud. A stinging warmth crept up her neck and she chuckled nervously, babbling to cover the faux pas. She sounded insane.

But Sophie's face had changed, the prim lines relaxing into an expression Anya couldn't name. When she didn't speak for some time, Vladimir piped up and Anya could hear the blatant hope in his voice.

"So...is she a Romanov?"

Sophie coughed daintily, standing to retrieve the china tea service edged in gold the sulking maid had brought in earlier. Her smile turned coy. "Well...she did answer every question..." She burst into a giggle and bobbed up and down on her toes in a little celebratory dance, the ruffles of her gown swishing.

A grin exploded across Vladimir's face as he shot to his feet. He looked at Anya, eyes sparkling with a joy she had never seen in him before. "Do you hear that, child? You did it!" He came around the coffee table so fast, Anya could hardly register what was happening as he scooped her up into a bear hug with a whoop and spun her in a circle. She closed her eyes and laughed, still reeling after he set her down again. Was this really happening?

After squeezing Anya's arms and chucking her under the chin, Vladimir turned his attention back to Sophie. "So, when do we go and see the Empress?"

Sophie heaved a great sigh of frustration, rattling the cups and saucers on the serving tray. "I'm afraid you don't, darling."

Vladimir's heavy brows met in a scowl. "Come again,  _kotik_?"

"The Empress simply  _won't_  allow it. After the girl who'd visited most recently, she's refused to see any others, no matter how I've tried to convince her not to give up."

Anya sank back into her chair, fighting to keep her alarm from resurging. She'd made it this far. She was not about to trip at the finish line because the imposters who'd come before her had ruined her chances. The men would think of something. She frowned in confusion when she glanced over at the abandoned fireplace. Where had Dimitri gone?

"Now Sophie,  _zvezda moya_ ," Vladimir said in a growling, seductive voice as Sophie began to saunter past him. He blocked her path and seized the tea tray from her hands. "Surely you can think of some way to arrange a brief interview with the Dowager." Vladimir's back didn't block Anya's view of Sophie's raised eyebrow at his audacity. She snatched the tray back but Anya caught her amused smirk before Sophie turned around again. Vladimir wrapped his burly arms around her from behind and whispered something in her ear.

Sophie made a noise in response that made Anya mash her lips together in an embarrassed smile and looked away. The two of them had definitely done this kind of canoodling before; she could only imagine what would be going on if she hadn't been in the room.

"I refuse to budge until an answer occurs to you," Vladimir said after Sophie had coquettishly worked her way free of his embrace, the tea tray restored only for her to put it back in its original location on the coffee table. "Please?"

Sophie's face brightened when she faced Anya. "Do you like the Russian Ballet?"

Anya nodded like a horse. She'd never seen the company live, but her friend Irina used to collect abandoned flyers from their performances in St. Petersburg, combing the gutters when she'd go into the city with Comrade Phlegmenkoff to run errands. She had so wanted to be a ballerina.

It took some effort for Anya to ward off the sudden sadness Irina's memory dredged up. Her best friend would be so proud of her now. Anya was doing this for her, too.

"I believe they're performing in Paris tomorrow night," Sophie continued. "The Empress and I  _love_  the Russian Ballet...we  _never miss it_." She winked and Anya watched Vladimir's smile grow as he caught Sophie's drift.

Anya grinned. Sophie was a wily one.

"I will be back in a moment," Vladimir said and headed toward the back door, most likely to tell an MIA Dimitri the news. Sophie paused to watch him leave before holding out a hand to Anya, beaming. "Congratulations, my darling!"

Ecstatic, Anya accepted her offering. Sophie placed her other hand on top of Anya's, her skin impossibly soft. They were hands that had never seen manual labor. Thinking of the relative roughness of her own skin, Anya reddened and said, "Thank you so much...I-I don't really know what to say."

"Well," Sophie said as she pulled Anya from her chair just to tug her back down on the couch beside her, "you could tell me where you've been all this time!"

"Oh." Anya knew she had no reason to be ashamed of her past, but she couldn't ignore the feeling of being out of place that had crept in, like a tickle in her throat she couldn't shake. "I...grew up in an orphanage just outside of St. Petersburg, since I was about ten years old."

Sophie paled, her hand flying to her mouth. "An _orphanage?_ "

"Yes." Anya's smile turned into a kind of apology. "I couldn't remember much of anything, and that's where they take kids who don't belong to anybody - or the ones who don't know that they do."

" _Mon dieu_...how awful."

It was and Anya didn't want to think about it anymore. "When I turned eighteen I aged out and found my way to the city." Something told her Vladimir wouldn't want Sophie to know that Anya had encountered him living in the Old Palace, so she left out that detail. "I met Vladimir and Dimitri and they offered to bring me here to meet you."

"And I assume Dimitri is the handsome young man, yes?"

Anya nodded.

Face soft, Sophie reached for Anya's hand again, genuine kindness shining from her large blue eyes. "I'm so very glad they did. What you  _can_  remember is good enough for me."

Anya liked the older woman more than she thought possible. Her own eyes burning with unshed tears that closed off her throat, she choked out her next words: "Thank you, Sophie."

Sophie patted her hand and jumped up with a deftness that belied her considerable size. "Now - did you bring any luggage?"

"Outside," Anya said after she'd composed herself, pointing over her shoulder. "It's...not much."

Smiling, Sophie shrugged. "No matter. We will get you all appropriate attire for the opening night of the ballet, don't you worry." She hesitated and Anya could feel Sophie assessing her from head to toe. "And...what do you have besides that dress?"

Anya swallowed. "Some pajamas, and an old coat."

Sophie's face lit up. "Oh, darling - we must go shopping immediately!"

Anya jumped out of her seat. Former orphanage resident or not, she wasn't a charity case. "No, please don't go to all that trouble - "

"I'll hear none of it!" Sophie said, striding to the hallway. "I was overdue for a shopping trip, anyway -  _Henriette!_ " she yelled down the corridor.

The maid appeared, peeking her bonnetted head around the corner. " _Oui, madame?_ "

Sophie continued to speak Russian, likely out of respect for Anya's lack of French proficiency. "Have Louis bring the car around - and get the tea tray on your way out."

Henriette curtsied and complied. "And don't dawdle!" Sophie squawked when she was done, chasing the little woman out of the room with her shrill voice.

Anya paid no mind. By now, her excitement had extinguished her unease and was bursting her seams.

Sophie noticed her inability to stand still and gestured at the back door, chuckling. When Anya dashed across the parlor to the exit, she called after her, "But we'll have to do something with that hair! Mademoiselle Chanel does not suffer the un-groomed!"

Vladimir and Dimitri were conversing in the shade of a blossoming cherry tree when Anya found them in the courtyard, and she had just enough time to tell them of their great turn of fortune before Sophie urged her back inside. Upstairs in her opulent bedroom, the jovial noblewoman seated Anya at her vanity and transformed her tresses into an elegant French coiffure in a matter of minutes.

Sophie disappeared into her closet once she'd finished and reemerged in her city clothes, a sunny yellow skirt and tomato red jacket that she cinched at the waist with a black belt. She inspected her work in a full length mirror while she slipped into a pair of fancy heels. Plopping an extravagant hat with a huge red bow on her head, Sophie turned and made a kissy face at Anya, making her laugh aloud. "Shall we, darling?"

Still steeped in elated disbelief, Anya followed Sophie back downstairs like an obedient duckling. Henriette The Maid informed her mistress that the car had arrived as requested as she was nervously herding Vladimir and Dimitri to the front door. When Anya mentioned Pooka was still outside, Vladimir retrieved the excited puppy from the bushes and handed him off to Henriette for caretaking, much to her delight.

Sophie's car was the fanciest Anya had ever seen, black and glossy as obsidian with an elongated body and sleek leather seats the hue of clotted cream. Sophie slid into the front seat with the uniformed driver. Vladimir ended up in the middle of the back seat between Anya and Dimitri, but the cabin was so roomy Anya still had space to wiggle around in her spot by the window. She made sure to sit on her hands. The inside was so pristine, she was afraid to touch anything.

The large white-walled tires made for a far more luxurious ride than the taxi as they glided through the wealthy suburbs toward the city's center. It was still fairly early, and the lack of people up and about provided an opportunity for Anya to take in her surroundings without distraction. It seemed too beautiful to be real - immaculate footpaths, lush gardens pruned to perfection concealing glimpses of countless dignified mansions, the many lavish automobiles - though not nicer than Sophie's, to be sure - parked just outside of lacy iron gates. There weren't even any stray dogs digging through trash here, a common sight in St. Petersburg.

Anya couldn't refrain from rolling down the window once the driver had abandoned the wide, oak-lined streets for the more narrow avenues of the city proper. She couldn't even feel the early spring chill that slipped in as Paris made its formal introduction, welcoming her with the sights and scents and sounds of her dreams.

Cobblestone streets. Tawny, stately buildings much taller than they were wide that stretched on for blocks with no space between them, their elegant exteriors flush with the sidewalks and embellished with ironwork balconies. Artists dotting street corners with their easels and buckets for change. Reedy notes of  _l'Accordéonaire_  floating above the street noise. Early crowds of well-heeled Parisians blending seamlessly with the working class as they strolled in and out of flower shops and meat markets and sidewalk cafes, most with cigarettes dangling from their fingertips. The earthy ancientness of the city laced with the scent of fresh bread as it greeted the day.

Anya had to resist the urge to glance down at her hands to see if they looked different in the light of a Parisian sun. She certainly felt different, as if she were in a waking fantasy, yet more alive than ever before.

A tear escaped her eye and she swiped it away before anyone could see.

Sophie had been chattering on and on as she pointed out landmarks, but nothing she'd said registered for Anya, especially once they'd turned into the ungoverned roundabout to the Avenue des Champs-Élysées and the Arc de Triomphe dominated the immediate skyline. Anya stuck her head out of the window like Pooka would have as they navigated the honking traffic around to its eastern side into an expansive shopping district, with more stores of every size and type than she had ever beheld in one location. She turned to grin at Vladimir and Dimitri, but both of them were looking out of the other window as distracted by the splendor as she had been.

Once they'd entered an area where the luxury stores were clumped together, Sophie had the driver drop them off at the curb as there was no available parking along the street and off they went - Vladimir and Dimitri toward the men's fashion boutiques armed with Sophie's name and store credit, while Anya and the woman herself found their way to the haute couture shops of the rich and famous.

The rest of the morning went by in a whirlwind of fitting rooms and flashes of luxurious fabrics. Sophie had made it her mission to turn Anya into her personal doll, dragging her into one establishment after another until her feet ached and throwing piles and piles of her selections into the arms of waiting attendants for Anya to try on. Each store was given instructions to deliver any and all items Anya chose to Sophie's home.

Anya was beside herself, happily drowning in gauzy day dresses of peacock blue and bronze, cotton velvet dinner gowns encrusted with beaded embroidery - she couldn't take it all in. She could count on one hand how many outfits she'd owned in her entire life until today, and at one point, she stood alone behind the closed door of a changing room, shoulders shaking as she bawled silently into her palms out of pure joy.


	29. La Ville Lumiére: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick French Lesson:
> 
> tarte aux pommes = apple tart
> 
> l'amour = love
> 
> maitresse = mistress of the house
> 
> merci beaucoup = thank you very much/many thanks
> 
> de rien = you're welcome
> 
> chérie - dear/darling
> 
> merde = shit (expletive)
> 
> Qu'est ce que tu as = What's wrong with you
> 
> amoureux = lover
> 
> Merci, monsieur = Thank you, sir
> 
> mes amis = my friends
> 
> premier arronddissement = first administrative district, nice part of town

When Anya stepped out red-faced and teary-eyed, Sophie deduced that she needed a break and suggested they stop at a crowded cafe for lunch.

"Are you feeling better now, dear?" Sophie asked with real concern, dragging the last chunk of chicken on her fork through the cream sauce on her plate and popping it in her mouth.

Anya nodded and took another delicious bite of the  _tarte aux pommes_  that ended a fantastic meal of herbaceous cucumber salad, chicken and vegetables stewed in red wine with buttery potatoes, and a selection of tangy local cheeses with slices of baguette. "I am, thank you. I just got a bit overwhelmed, I guess. Coming from where I grew up, all this..." She trailed off, having difficulty condensing all she had experienced in the last few hours into words. "This is a lot for me."

"I understand." Sophie continued to chew thoughtfully. "I know your upbringing must have been very difficult, but please don't forget that you deserve to be here, darling. Enjoying everything the city has to offer will take some getting used to, but it is a wonderful adjustment to have to make, trust me." She winked.

Anya shook her head in amusement as Sophie gestured for the waiter. She was nothing like the pompous snob Anya had been expecting from the luxury in which she lived. They were seated outside with all the other patrons instead of in some private, privileged corner, and her manner was even very kind with the waiter who returned to their table with tiny white cups of strong coffee for each of them. While he interacted with Sophie, Anya turned to observe the happenings around them before closing her eyes and allowing the afternoon sunshine to bathe her face in warmth. She wondered if Dimitri was appreciating all of this. It felt beyond odd to be without him after so much time glued to his hip, as if an appendage was missing.

"Now I _must_ know what's on your mind."

Anya opened her eyes and turned back to Sophie. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You are certainly not smiling that way about clothes, darling, no matter how wonderful they may be." Her coffee cup still at her lips, Sophie's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Could it have something to do with that tasty morsel of a man who was at my home?"

Shocked that her thoughts had been so transparent, Anya choked on the sip of coffee she had taken and sputtered, " _Dimitri?_ "

"Yes," Sophie said on a hearty laugh as Anya finished coughing into the crook of her elbow. "My goodness, I had no idea they grew them like that in St. Petersburg. In my younger days, I would have been thrilled to break him in half." She laughed again as she took in Anya's scandalized expression. "Anyway, I saw the way he looked at you, like you were his favorite dessert. I was just curious if you were as in love with him as he is with you."

Dimitri was so many things to her now, Anya didn't know how to begin answering such a loaded question. He was patient like the best teacher. He had the most terrific responses to her teasing and pranks like a brother. He encouraged her when she was down with tough love like a coach. He believed in her blindly like a devoted fan. Beyond that, he touched her like she belonged to him and turned her into fire in his arms. But she still didn't know how he truly felt about her.

Anya sighed. "It's...complicated. Dimitri's like my best friend." She could feel her color rising yet again. Sophie definitely kept her on her toes.

"Fine, fine...it's clearly more than that, but I'll let you be. A woman has to have her secrets when it comes to  _l'amour_ , no?" Checking the time on the dainty watch at her wrist, Sophie squeaked in excitement as she scooted back her chair to toss her napkin onto her empty plate. "We should go before it gets too late - just wait until you see the beautiful new gowns Coco has been working on. Your Dimitri is going to lose his mind."

The person Sophie mentioned turned out to be the fashion designer who owned the largest boutique on Rue Cambon a few blocks away, House of Chanel. The sheer elegance of the building itself put all the other stores they'd visited to shame. Anya's jaw slackened from the moment they entered through the huge glass doors, when a valet in a tuxedo escorted them up a grandiose staircase to the owner's private apartment.

Unlike at Sophie's home, the  _maitresse_  herself answered the door - a tall and slender classic beauty of a woman dressed in trousers and slippers and a simple blouse, her neck adorned with multiple strands of pearls and dark hair forming soft waves around her ears in the style of the day. Several versions of her appeared over Anya's shoulder in the paneled mirror wall along the staircase. She and Sophie squealed in delight at the sight of each other like school girls, breaking into an ecstatic string of French as Anya followed them inside and tried to stay out of the way.

The inside of the palatial apartment reminded Anya of photos of the Palace of Versailles she'd seen in books as a child - ornate, heavy on dark polished wood and gold, no surface unadorned. Soft jazz music filled the room from a gramophone on a stand in the corner. She had no sooner sat down on the oversized couch when Sophie grabbed her hand and pulled her over to meet Coco, who was bubbling over with excitement and saying something was "petite" as she made Anya turn around and around in a circle.

Sophie chuckled. "She wants to know how your waist is so tiny."

Anya ducked her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It shouldn't be, as much as I eat."

Coco's head fell back with throaty laughter after Sophie translated, then she shooed them into a back room. Here the walls appeared to have been fashioned of black lacquer, inlaid with Asian fans and landscape scenes made from mother of pearl. It was breathtaking, but not more so than the ten or so outfits Coco wheeled out on a cart from another room out of view.

Anya's hand went to her chest as she stared in astonishment at the garments. Sophie and Coco spoke at length, and Anya's eyes bulged once Sophie had translated again. "She wants me to take  _all_  of this?"

"Partly as a favor for me, partly because they are all samples and you are actually tiny enough to fit them perfectly." Sophie's lips spread in a pleased smile.

Every moment of this day seemed to be determined to outdo the one before. Anya approached the cart with a reverent hand, lace and silk caressing her fingers. The quality of the clothes was beyond superb, fit for royalty. "Tell her I can't accept this, Sophie. It's too much -"

Sophie interrupted with exasperated tutting. "You can and you will. What did I tell you earlier? You're family now, and all of this today is my pleasure. Consider this part of your coming home gift."

The gesture made Anya ache inside. While fighting back yet another flood of tears, she turned to Coco, who looked touched. " _Merci beaucoup, madamoiselle_."

" _De rien, chérie,"_ Coco said in return, playfully bumping Anya's hip with her own and chasing her troubled frown away. She and Sophie played dutiful maids and helped Anya into each piece, Coco studying the fit with a careful eye and finding Anya's proportions perfect for all but a puffy taffeta cocktail gown and a women's suit that did nothing for her figure.

Anya changed into a periwinkle dropwaist dress with a scandalously high hem that flirted with her knees, officially prepared for whatever festivities Sophie had up her sleeve for the remainder of the evening. Coco let her have the matching ankle strap heels that were a trifle too big, and as Anya admired the sheer overlay attached to the front of the dress with a large rose-colored bow of silk, she spied Coco over her shoulder in the mirror against the wall heading to the trash closet with her blue dress.

"No!" she almost shrieked when she whipped around, making everyone jump.

" _Merde,"_ Coco cursed loudly, still holding the dress with the very tips of her fingers like it was contaminated. " _Qu'est ce que tu as_  -"

"I'm sorry - please don't throw that away. It-it was a gift." Her first real gift, and the most lavish and expensive dress in the world could not recreate the sweetness she felt when she had it on from knowing Dimitri had wanted to see her in it.

Sophie slapped her thighs laughing as realization dawned and explained to Coco that Anya could not part with her present from her " _amoureux_ ". Coco joined her, shaking her head as she folded the dress with its belt and her old boots and set it aside. According to Sophie, she hoped "Anya's love could teach her man some better taste in women's clothing".

Coco spent the next few minutes packaging Anya's new clothes for transport to Sophie's house with the rest of the day's purchases, save for Anya's outfit for the ballet that would be sent to the hotel Sophie had booked for the night. Around the dinner hour, Coco took her leave with kisses on both cheeks for her two guests - with a good-natured swat to the behind for Anya - before she closed her door.

Sophie had given the driver strict instructions that morning to pick everyone up in front of the store around this time. Anya descended the steps with her shopping benefactor, still floating on air. When the valet opened the front door and they stepped outside, Anya felt Dimitri's presence before she saw him.

He stood off to her right with arms crossed and legs apart, surveying the street. The moment her heel hit the pavement he turned his head. He looked as thunderstruck as Anya felt at the sight of him in his smart new clothes: trousers of slate gray and shiny leather shoes, a snappy cornflower blue dress shirt with a coordinating tie, a slim dinner jacket cut to perfectly accent his broad shoulders. He'd even slicked his hair back from his face with a bit of pomade, revealing his sharp cheekbones and that jawline reminiscent of an ancient Roman coin.

Sophie was right; he looked so good Anya wanted to put him on a plate and sop him up with a croissant.

Dimitri's mouth opened and closed in silence like a fish gasping for oxygen for a long moment before he managed to speak. "God...you look incredible."

" _Merci, monsieur."_ Anya turned this way and that to give him a little show, then giggled into her hand to hide her obvious blush. Noting how the soft pink of his jacket echoed the color of the bow on her dress, she bit back a smile that likely would have blinded him. "We look like someone could buy us as a set."

With an oddly miserable chuckle, Dimitri rubbed at the back of his neck. "If you say so. You look a hell of a lot better than I do."

"Are you kidding? That color does  _amazing_  things for your complexion, darling." Anya stuck her nose in the air, imitating the snooty salespeople she'd encountered all day, then wrinkled it at him.

Dimitri got her joke and huffed an earnest laugh. "Thanks, I think."

For a man who was catching the attention of more than a few roving female eyes passing by, he was behaving as if his new outfit was made of cactus needles instead of a resplendent linen. Anya had seen visiting whores in chapels who looked more comfortable than he did.

Her heart twisted. If she had had a breakdown of her own over the lavishness of her shopping trip, she could only imagine how Dimitri must have felt all day. She'd at least had structure and a consistent roof over her head at the orphanage, for better or worse. From what she understood, Dimitri had spent his formative years more or less on the street.

The grandeur of Paris itself was a foreign language to him.

Sophie, having finally extracted herself from the store after purchasing several bottles of Coco's popular perfume, trotted over to a woman selling individual roses from a wicker basket on her arm just outside. She bought a handful and handed Anya a couple, who brought the blooms to her nose to inhale their fragrance, sweet as the evening air.

Smirking like she had a secret, Sophie slipped into the space between Anya and Dimitri and said, "Welcome to Paris,  _mes amis_. Forget where you're from and I'll make this a night you won't soon forget." She made her way back to an impeccably dressed Vladimir in a boater hat, but not before bumping Anya right into Dimitri's side.

His eyes shot up to hers in surprise, warming with a shy heat that left Anya breathless and ready to make a decision. If Paris could be home to her, she would be home to Dimitri. With that heady thought, she tucked her smaller flower into the buttonhole of his lapel and curled a hand into the crook of his elbow. He blinked down at her and his mouth hinted at a smile that failed to manifest.

That was okay. They had all night to work on that.

Sophie took up that charge herself and corralled everyone back into her waiting car. Vladimir made a lot of noise about wanting to see an American dancer perform wearing nothing but a skirt made of bananas at  _La Folies Bergère_ , but Sophie talked him out of it in favor of dinner at  _Le Moulin Rouge_. Anya curled herself against Dimitri's side in the backseat this time, both of them staring together into the night beyond the window, watching the city come alive as the sun faded and the people threw off their mantles of responsibility to feed on Paris' decadence. An earlier spring shower had left the cobblestones shimmering, reflecting the light that seemed to shine from every window and doorway and street lamp and joyful Parisian face. It had a luminescence of its soul, this place. Anya wanted every bit of it for herself. And for Dimitri, to light his darkness.

Vladimir and Sophie shared a dirty sense of humor that made them quite entertaining company. Dimitri had livened up considerably by dessert, especially once Sophie lost a shoe after her fourth glass of champagne and Vladimir had to maneuver through a dancing chorus line of can-can girls to retrieve it. His melancholy returned after one handsomely dressed gentleman after another asked Anya to dance when the band opened the dance floor. Anya didn't know how to feel when he urged her to accept every one of them.

But she didn't give up. She kept coaxing him to the light with her warmth, with smiles and private laughter shared just with him. Their party of four ended the night on the viewing deck of the Eiffel Tower with the whole of the world a carpet of stars far below their feet. Anya received her reward in the form of Dimitri's arm around her waist and his hand folding tightly around hers, as if he were afraid she'd turn to mist in his grip.

It was nearly midnight by the time they made it to their chic hotel just off the Seine in the  _premier arronddissement_ , and Dimitri still hadn't let her go. They said their goodbyes to Vladimir and Sophie, who were going back to her house for the night to get "reacquainted", and Dimitri escorted Anya to her hotel room.

Heart in her throat, Anya found it more and more difficult to meet the intensity of his eyes. She watched their clasped hands as they walked slowly from the lobby down the empty hallway.

"You've never told me what you planned to do after tomorrow."

Dimitri flinched, his hold on her hand becoming just shy of painful, and stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

He looked so stricken, Anya began to question her decision to lay the question on him that had been gnawing at her for days. "I...was just going to ask what you planned to do after I'm back with my grandmother. Where you planned to go." She started to tremble. "Will you stay here, in Paris?" she asked, very carefully.

 _With me?_ she finished in her head. She didn't want to be without him and was exhausted from battling the constant need to sustain herself on his presence.

Why fight it anymore? If Paris could give Anya her family back, why couldn't it give her Dimitri, too?

He appeared to ponder her query as he studied her hand still clutched in his. When his smile finally resurfaced it had turned phantom, a shadow of its former glory that made her unspeakably sad. "I'll figure something out, don't worry." It was a typical Dimitri-style answer, everything and nothing in a mouthful of words.

Frustrated, Anya pinned him to the spot with her confused stare. "Dimitri, what's wrong? We're here, in Paris! We did it! Just like you said..." She shook her head and looked at the fancy carpet. "I just don't understand. I thought you wanted this, too - "

"Anya, I  _do!_  Of course I do." He flared to life then, finally, for the first time all evening. "I've wanted this for you since we met. And I'm so proud of you. I'm just..." He paused, biting his lip before looking Anya straight on, warm eyes unwavering. "I'm tired, I don't speak French, and it's been a long ass day."

She snorted. "Can't argue with you there."

They walked the rest of the way in a much more comfortable silence. Dimitri threaded his fingers through hers and Anya instantly felt feverish and afraid her legs would give out beneath her. When they arrived at her door, she fiddled with the key in the lock but didn't turn it. She wasn't ready to go in. At least not by herself.

Dimitri lingered, too, playing with the tips of her fingers. "I imagine Sophie will have you primping all day, so I probably won't see you until tomorrow night, huh?"

"Probably." Anya glanced up at him through her lashes, her lip caught in her teeth. "You gonna miss me or something?"

His smile broke through. "Maybe." He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. "Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?"

"You have," Anya said with a chuckle, her spirits lifting. "Several times. Though I was just  _barely_  prettier than you tonight. You should have seen all the ladies making googly eyes at you behind your back."

"Ha, ha." He rolled his own eyes. Shades of the old Dimitri she knew and loved had appeared, at least for the moment.

Anya wanted him, right then and there, and she prayed with all her might that he would kiss her and she'd have a reason to invite him inside and not look like a complete trollop. Eyes sweeping over his face, she shifted closer to him, near enough to share his heat and smell his cologne - warm and spicy, something like cloves and caramel, a delicious exaggeration of the natural scent of his skin.

"Goodnight, Anya."

He didn't grant her silent wish, but she didn't get a chance to be disappointed. Her head swam when he bent slightly and drew up her hand, his soft lips just grazing her knuckles, turning the polite farewell gesture into something shockingly intimate and sensual. He hovered there for a breathless moment, as if he were unsure of his next move.

When his eyes slid closed, he gently unfurled her fingers with his thumb and pressed that same luscious mouth to the pads of her middle digits. Anya thought her heart would knock a rib loose.

"If you need anything, come find me. I'm at the end of the hall." He released her at last and Anya instantly felt bereft, like a piece of herself had been torn away.

Shaken, she forced a smirk. "Really, now?  _Anything?_ "

"Yep." Dimitri's lopsided grin broadened suggestively.

"Isn't that kind of dangerous, writing me a blank check like that?"

He eased his hands into the crisp pockets of his trousers and rocked back on his heels. "Gotta take my chances. You could have me beheaded, after all. I've heard they do that here."

Anya giggled at his antics, cheeks hot. Even still not quite himself he was so...maybe it was the city itself making her crazy, or maybe she'd had too much to drink, but Dimitri's physicality had gone from very attractive to unbearably irresistible in the span of an afternoon. His mere nearness tonight had already dampened the fancy silk knickers Sophie had insisted she wear. Right now they were in danger of catching fire.

Though throwing caution to the wind and simply dragging him into her room crossed her mind, Anya dismissed the dirty thoughts and joined Dimitri on the high road he seemed to have taken. "What if I need vanilla ice cream in the middle of the night?" She threw a coy smile at him over her shoulder as she finally opened her door.

He bowed low as he backed away, still wearing that grin she adored. "Done."

"Champagne for my bathwater?" She batted her lashes like a cartoon.

That made him chuckle, still walking backwards toward his end of the hall. "Room 102," he said.

"Diamonds for my ice bucket?" she called after him laughing when he finally turned his back to her. He twirled his room key ring on his finger above his head in answer.

Anya watched until he disappeared around the corner before closing the door behind her with a solid, solitary click. She leaned against it with a deep sigh, still aching. The sight of her garment bag in the open closet with the extravagant fur coat borrowed from Sophie curled her lips into a smug smile.

She'd see if Dimitri could maintain his reticence once he saw her in that.


	30. Lead Wings: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, folks! I've been writing pretty much since the last update, but this chapter (another 2fer, lucky you!) took forever because it took so much out of me...Dimitri is just sooo emotional, as y'all know. Always so yummy to live in his head for a while :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Reviews = love and warm hugs
> 
> J.F

Dimitri nearly retched into a bed of daffodils in the courtyard.

He doubled over and braced a hand against the stone retaining wall, arm trembling and stomach roiling pure bile. He couldn't breathe quite right, but at least he'd been too nervous to consume more than a mouthful of coffee at breakfast on the ship and his body had nothing to expel.

Impossible. This was  _impossible_.

Anastasia was dead. It had only been the Dowager who'd made it onto that train out of Russia to the asylum of foreign borders. There was no way a pampered girl child born to privilege could survive Russia's merciless streets into adulthood with no one to care for her.

This couldn't be happening...Dimitri shook his head again and again, trying to force his denial to burrow deeper and take hold, to resist the devastating implications of a reality of this magnitude.

He and Vladimir had auditioned literally hundreds of girls, searching merely for the best actress of the bunch who looked the most authentic, and the genuine article had stumbled upon them at the home they'd made of the palace on her own?

No.

No no no no no  _no_.

But Anya knew. He'd never breathed a word of the events of that day to a single living soul and she  _knew_.

Even when they met and he'd considered her classless trash, Dimitri had thought she was too good to be true for their grand plan. That was the cruel cosmic joke he'd suspected all along, like a tiny shard of shrapnel in his mind. Anya - Anastasia -  _was_  true. And too good for  _him_.

He straightened after a long moment and crossed his arms, still trying to get a normal breath around the burning knot in his chest. The princess he'd grieved for and the woman he loved were one and the same. The noxious amalgamation of joy and despair made Dimitri want to shed his very skin and flee.

"We-e-e-e  _did_  it!"

An exuberant Vladimir had just burst through the French doors to the courtyard at Dimitri's back, who grunted in surprised annoyance when the man actually picked him up from behind and swung him around once like a child.

"We are going to see her Imperial Highness tomorrow night!" The elation filling Vladimir's face was unmatched, even by the con they pulled off when Dimitri was thirteen that had set them up financially for the following year and a half. His dark eyes shone like they only did when money was in the bag. "We are going to get the ten million  _rubles_!"

His mention of the reward money made Dimitri nauseated all over again. So what if it technically wasn't dirty anymore, now that he knew handing their royal pupil over to her family for just compensation was the next logical, rightful step. It seemed ages since that had mattered to him, and the thought of exchanging Anya for all that cash felt like someone had upended a city dumpster on his head.

Dimitri looked at the ground, half expecting to see rancid St. Petersburg trash piled around his feet. "Vlad, she _is_  the princess."

Vladimir didn't hear him, lost in his own jubilation as he practically danced around the enormous trickling fountain. "Anya was  _extraordinary_  -  _I_  almost believed her!" Vladimir patted both of Dimitri's cheeks in his excitement and earned a ferocious scowl. "And Sophie - " Vladimir broke into a frenzied laugh. "Sophie bought every word! We are going to be very rich men, my friend, very, very rich..."

Anya appeared at the open doorway in Dimitri's peripheral vision just then, bouncing on her toes and squealing something about Sophie wanting to take them shopping before she was gone as quickly as she'd arrived. Dimitri was glad; his wounds were much too fresh to look her way.

Vladimir went on and on about the things he planned to buy and do once they'd sold Anya off. Dimitri had stopped hearing him, suffocating under a thick blanket of disgust for his mentor and himself. Either Vladimir was the finest actor Dimitri had ever seen or he really was this cold-blooded, fooling even Dimitri into believing he had some paternal affection for Anya. He'd just never seen Vladimir revel in their depravity with such...joy. He watched with new eyes as Vladimir paced the flagstones sporting that shit-eating grin, and for the briefest possible moment, before a wave of guilt at his own ingratitude had washed it away, Dimitri hated him. Hated him for being a distorted reflection of the person Dimitri had been, that he feared on some primordial level he still was.

The harried maid arrived after a few minutes to annouce the arrival of the car to take them into the city, and Dimitri followed Vladimir to the front of the house with lead in his shoes. Vladimir gave him an odd look when Dimitri wouldn't slide into the back seat next to Anya but didn't make a fuss. Dimitri would have made a scene had his friend insisted. To be close enough to feel her warmth against his side knowing what he knew would have been unbearable.

After the ladies went one direction and he and Vladimir another, Dimitri spent the rest of the day in a sort of trance, moving as if he were underwater. His feet dragged, his limbs felt heavy and useless. The crowds that moved around him were more vague shapes than people, their indecipherable words white noise in his ears as he dogged Vladimir's steps from store to store. His partner purchased more for the two of them on Sophie's credit than he probably should have, but Dimitri didn't have the strength to argue, not even when the handsy suit salesman wrestled him into a pink dinner jacket early on in the evening. Vladimir had never shared much about his days in the royal Russian court, but Dimitri knew he spoke perfect French. Dimitri was happy to let him take the lead as he struggled to keep his mind off Anya and failed every time.

They finished their shopping trip well before the women, as expected. While Sophie's car waited at the curb, Vladimir stood reading a newspaper in front of the last boutique they were to have visited and Dimitri paced in front of the glass doors for a solid hour.

He almost clutched his chest when Anya finally exited the building like an angel stepping out on clouds, worried that his heart had stopped. Her beauty a full-on assault on his senses, Dimitri wondered in awe how her comeliness seemed to refine itself with every wardrobe change. He shrank from her, overwhelmed in more ways than one, but Anya seemed to insist on clinging to his side.

Her closeness the rest of the night was tortuously bittersweet. She consumed his thoughts, causing Dimitri to rely on his con man's instinct alone to fake his way through dinner as he could barely keep up with the conversation. Wanting her to experience all Paris had to offer, he could feel his heart breaking anew as he watched her accept one dance partner after another at his insistence. Anya belonged here. She was light, and love, and kindness, and everything lovely, and Dimitri knew he didn't deserve to breathe the same air as she.

Still, the magic of Paris had taken its toll by the time they made it to the Eiffel Tower and he could no longer resist the fantasy of Anya belonging only to him. He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, stomach clenching when her soft body melted against him and she rested her head against his shoulder.

Anya wanted him to kiss her at her hotel room door. It was all over her face. Dimitri had never known the kind of pain that came with resisting the screaming urge to honor her wishes, but he had to. He already loved her too much and in too many ways to survive their inevitable demise. If he kissed her, they'd be naked and writhing on the floor of her room in a matter of moments and he'd never be able to leave her again. Anya was entitled to the world, but Dimitri knew even she couldn't have them both.

He was resolved when he left her with a kiss to her fingertips. Despite knowing he'd see her the following day, it felt like the last goodbye.

His posh hotel room felt empty when he returned. Dimitri left the light off and flopped onto his back on the bed fully clothed, not even bothering to remove his jacket and uncomfortable shoes. When he closed his eyes, he heard Anya's tinkling laughter. When he opened them, he saw her earnest smile and that dimple in her cheek. Anastasia's dimple.

He sat up with a ragged sigh and rubbed his face with both hands. No point in trying to sleep tonight.

Paris' streets proved lively in the wee hours of the morning, with drunk and laughing people stumbling out of bars onto the banquette or forming small crowds around street musicians just hitting their stride. Dimitri couldn't witness the scene with the same wide-eyed wonder he saw in Anya today. Everything around him seemed frivolous and pointless. Nothing about this place impressed him, but he doubted he would be if the beggar limping down the alley up ahead had presented him with a tray of diamonds. He despised Paris with a jealous animosity, knowing it would rob him of his first and only love.

Dimitri walked with no sense of purpose or destination. He fisted his hands in his pockets and tucked his arms into his sides against the chill, listening to the steady beat of his shoes hitting the cobblestones, trying to hypnotize himself into doing what needed to be done in just a few hours.

Today was the last day Anya would be in his life.

The truth he'd been fending off since that afternoon cut Dimitri so deeply he actually stumbled, but he had to face it - if not for himself, then for her. Marie was Anya's only family. He would have given anything to see his own mother or even his father again, to have met his little brother or sister had they been born and helped guide them into adulthood under his wing. He couldn't rob Anya of one last shot at something real by subverting their operation so he could keep her to himself.

Dimitri turned down the next street into a dark void between street lights, the music fading into the distance behind him. He thought to start calling her by her given name but decided against it, even if it felt...disrespectful somehow. He didn't want Anya to be aware that anything had changed. She had always  _been_  Anastasia, for all she knew. Dimitri and Vladimir had done almost too good a job with that.

The more he considered it, the more obvious and painful his course of action became. He'd have to cut ties. Completely. It was the only way. Ironically, that had always been the plan, but now Dimitri knew it had to be done because he could not bear to be so near Anya and not have her, not be with her. He didn't fit into her life when she was a little girl running wild in the palace and he certainly didn't now. Better to be countries away, knowing she was safe and loved but never harboring the hope of catching a glimpse of her, just maybe, walking with her royal escort through the Parisian streets.

It was decided, then. Dimitri would hand her off to the Dowager, usher her into her new life, and make a swift exit. And as much as it pained him, since the last ten years of his life had revolved around obtaining it, he knew he couldn't take the Dowager's reward. Vladimir was likely to murder him, but that was a risk he was willing to take to preserve what remained of his soul.

He'd wandered so far it took an hour to get back to the hotel, the eastern sky flushing with the first pinks of dawn. He dashed through the lobby and rounded the blind corner to his hallway, only to be nearly mowed down by a small army of maids in gray uniforms, carrying little train cases while talking and laughing loud enough to wake the dead. This smacked of Sophie's extravagance, and sure enough they headed straight for Anya's room, gathering around her door in a giggling mass. Dimitri shook his head and unlocked his own door. Anya would be occupied all day from the size of that group.

He headed straight for the bed again and plopped down on the edge, letting his upper body fall back and bounce against the mattress. Today would be hell.

An abrupt knock on the door made him jerk upright, heart racing. He squinted into the searing sunlight flooding the room through the open window shades. Seemed it had been dark only a few minutes ago...

Yawning and rubbing his eyes, Dimitri shuffled to the doorway intending to send the hotel maid away and found a grinning Vladimir instead, holding up a bottle of champagne by its neck with one hand and a large garment bag by its hanger in the other. Before he could quell his reaction, Dimitri rolled his eyes and turned his back with a weary groan. He hadn't been ready to see his overzealous partner just yet. "It's way too early for champagne, Vlad."

Vladimir laughed shortly as he closed the door behind him, ignoring Dimitri's surly behavior. "Early? It is nearly four-o'-clock local time. We will have to be at the theater by five-thirty."

Frowning, Dimitri settled into the armchair by the window. He'd slept that long?

"I thought I would dress here," Vladimir said as he placed the champagne on a nightstand and hung his garment bag in the closet next to Dimitri's, "so we would have time to discuss your strategy for this evening."

Dimitri braced his elbows on his knees, feeling like he hardly had the strength to keep himself upright. He didn't want to talk about this. His heart still felt like it was bleeding. "Do we have to do this right now?"

Vladimir looked at him like he'd just asked if the sky was made of tissue paper. "What are you talking about? What other time would we have to - "

"I can't." Dimitri hung his head. "I don't want to talk about it. It'll happen however it happens."

After a long beat of silence, Vladimir's feet moved into Dimitri's view as he sat on the end of the bed next to him. "Are you alright?"

Dimitri was as far from alright as he could possibly be. "Does it matter?"

Vladimir huffed. "How can you ask...of course it matters, Dimitri. Do you think I do not care about how you feel?"

A resentful snicker broke free as Dimitri sat up to look at Vladimir. "Please...all you care about is the money. That's all you've  _ever_  cared about."

Vladimir sat back, eyes wide as if Dimitri had sucker punched him. "I see...so I have kept you alive all of these years, going hungry and cold just to keep food in your mouth and warm clothes on your back because I only care about money?" He scoffed and cocked his head at his wayward mentee. "All I have ever cared about was  _survival_  - yours and mine. This entire scheme was  _your_  idea - or has your hypocrisy caused you to forget?"

Dimitri grimaced and collapsed against the back of the chair, directing his sigh at the ornate ceiling. Vladimir was right, of course - he would have been satisfied with living forever on the small-scale cons they were pulling back in Russia. It had been Dimitri who'd always wanted more and more.

He  _was_  a hypocrite. Yet another black mark to add to an already lengthy list of reasons why he was an unfit mate for Anya.

Adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, Vladimir's voice gentled when he spoke again. "I...know this is difficult for you due to your feelings for Anya, but - "

"You don't know anything."

Vladimir's heavy brows met. "What do you mean?"

Dimitri stared, weighing the consequences of telling him everything, forseeing Vladimir's shock and most of all, his pity. Ultimately, it was the simple idea of speaking the words aloud that made him decide against it. He was barely getting by with the truth burning through his mind like wildfire. Telling Vladimir who Anya really was would make it too real for him to handle right now, when he was already on unsteady ground.

"Never mind." Dimitri jerked his chin at the champagne bottle across the way. "You mind opening that?"

Still wearing a troubled look, Vladimir rolled onto his side and stretched his arm across the bed to retrieve it. The cork popped after he ripped the foil and worked it free and hit the wall with a soft thud, sending a brief, fizzy stream of liquid down the side. It left a puddle that soaked the carpet, but neither of them cared nor reached for the crystal glasses next to the lamp on the desk.

Vladimir handed the wet bottle to Dimitri without a word, who took several pulls of the lukewarm alcohol right from the source. He handed it back to Vladimir and he followed suit.

An artificial warmth flooded his veins and Dimitri rubbed his temples, a headache blooming right between his eyes that did nothing to take the edge off his heartache. If alcohol had no effect, he worried the unendurable sense of loss would actually kill him.

"Do you remember the job we did during that unusually hot summer? I believe you had just turned fifteen."

Dimitri raised his head, wondering where Vladimir was headed with that train of thought.

"Yes," Vladimir continued with a wistful grin, "you had just outgrown all of your clothes again and we needed money for new ones. The mark was a bank manager, I believe. He tried to have us both arrested because you fell in love with the redhead who worked there who turned out to be his youngest daughter." Vladimir chuckled.

Dimitri didn't find this particular trip down memory lane amusing at all. Now that he knew how excruciating real love could be, that Vladimir could even compare Anya to some nameless girl from their past he'd seen a handful of times was an insult.

"This isn't the same," he said with a baleful scowl. "You know it isn't."

Vladimir's face fell as he realized his misstep. "I was not trying to..." He trailed off into a sigh. "I know. I know this is different. Believe it or not, I love her, too." The smile returned, this time tinged with a profound sadness that Dimitri had never seen before. "She reminds me of my daughter."

If Dimitri hadn't just put down the champagne bottle after taking another swig, he would have dropped it. His eyes turned to saucers. "Your  _what?_ "

"Eva. That was her name, after my father's mother. She would have been some years older than you."

Not once in all the countless days they'd spent together did Vladimir mention he'd had a family.

"You never..." Dimitri stared in shock. "What do you mean, 'would have'? What happened to her?"

Vladimir spoke gingerly, as if each word were cutting into an old scar and he was trying to manage the pain. "I married into the royal court. It was purely an...arrangement between business associates; I did not love my wife and she did not love me." Vladimir looked up at Dimitri. "The ruby ring I sold had belonged to her family. It was the only thing I had left of my life from before." When Dimitri nodded his understanding, he continued. "My wife knew of Sophie; she was part of our understanding. But she gave me a little girl, my joy. After the Romanovs fell, a Bolshevik officer with a vendetta against me for a bad business deal took my wife and daughter and held them for ransom. I did not have enough money to pay it, so he had both of them shot."

Dimitri's heart twisted for his friend. "Vlad, I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

Vladimir shrugged. "He and the subordinates who had pulled the trigger were dead before the end of that year; I made sure of it. But I made a vow to myself that I would never be poor again."

Dimitri nodded once more, glad that justice had been served. He now understood Vladimir's fervor for riches. It was rooted in the fear of not being able to protect himself and the people he loved. Dimitri knew all about that. He could hardly stand in judgment.

After bowing his head in silence for a moment to honor the memory of Vladimir's family, Dimitri caught his partner's melancholy eyes. "Will you stay in Paris when this is over?" he asked, chest aching as he echoed Anya's question for him from the night before.

Vladimir wriggled into a more comfortable position on the bed. "I believe so. Sophie is here, after all. There is nothing left for me in Russia." He eyed Dimitri's somber countenance and his mouth twitched into a familiar smile. "I would not be upset if you decided to stay here as well."

Dimitri hoped Sophie would be willing to take Vladimir in. The man had no idea how poor he was about to be again, but Dimitri didn't have the heart to tell him on the heels of his revelation. He'd find out soon enough. "We'll see," was all he said in reply.

He dodged further questions about the future by suggesting they get ready. They both dressed in contemplative silence, Vladimir moving to a corner with the contents of his garment bag laid neatly across the bed, while Dimitri retreated to the bathroom and did his best to avoid the mirror.

After twenty minutes of fighting with his bowtie, he emerged exasperated with the flaps of the white silk fabric hanging uselessly around his neck. He gave a helpless shrug at Vladimir's amused expression. "I never could figure these stupid things out."

An impeccably dressed Vladimir chuckled as he approached him. "Allow me." He tied it perfectly with a deftness that his thick, calloused fingers would not suggest. As he did so, Dimitri could have sworn he caught the gleam of unshed tears behind his glasses.

He swallowed, the surge of emotion for the only father he had ever known closing his throat. "Don't go getting sentimental on me, old man," he said gruffly, just able to choke the words out.

Vladimir smirked and brushed at his eye with a fingertip. "Never." Finished, he stepped back and brushed imaginary lint off Dimitri's shoulders, grunting his approval before lifting Dimitri's arm to glance at his watch. "We should head to the theater now."

"Good idea." As Dimitri grabbed his top hat from the closet shelf and draped his coat over his arm, Anya and her primping posse came to mind. "I'll go tell Anya we're leaving. Hopefully that will inspire her to be on time tonight."

Vladimir agreed, and after Dimitri locked up and they parted ways, he walked the opposite direction to Anya's room.

He knocked, surprised when the door opened under the force of his knuckles alone. Those idiots, he thought with heat. Not one of the maids made sure the door was closed completely before they left? Anyone could just waltz inside.

Alarmed at the security risk, Dimitri kept knocking and calling Anya's name as he peeked around the door into what appeared to be an empty room. The sound of jazz music filled the air and he spotted a portable phonograph on the coffee table someone must have brought in. He stepped in further, feeling like he was trespassing. "Anya?" He held the door slightly ajar and raised his voice, trying to be heard above the music. "Anya, Vlad and I are - "

The sound of water sloshing made him turn his head and he froze, his body reacting before his thoughts could catch up. He could see Anya in the bathroom through the partially open door as she stepped out of the tub, her hair in a smooth bun at the top of her head and damp at the nape of her neck, water sluicing down her back and rear and shapely legs but leaving stray clumps of bubbles clinging to her skin.

She reached for the folded towel on the sink and Dimitri caught a glimpse of a breast, every single thought evaporating as his brain turned to mush. His lung function stalled and he gaped, incapable of movement or speech, the intensity of his sudden arousal akin to a near-fatal electric shock.

After haphazardly throwing the towel around herself, Anya turned and caught sight of Dimitri with a gasp.

It wasn't the blood-curdling scream he'd expected. He wasn't sure if he was breathing, but Anya's chest heaved as she stared back at him in a charged moment that stretched into an eternity. One hand clutched the towel in place at her chest and exaggerated the fullness there. Water droplets streamed down her legs from her hidden places, the steam intensifying the soft floral scent of her emanating from the bathroom. It made Dimitri woozy, but not more so than when a corner of the towel loosened and dropped away, revealing the milky flesh of her leg all the way up to the curve of her hip.

Anya didn't scramble to cover herself. She didn't move at all except to wet her lips as her blue eyes deepened, flicking to the open hotel room door before returning to his. A mischievous smirk appeared on her flushed face. "Are you in or out?"

Her bold words broke the spell and Dimitri flinched, snapping his head around to look at the floor. "I'm -I'm sorry...the door was open and I - "

He sensed Anya take a step toward him and panicked. "I just came to tell you that Vlad and I will meet you at the theater. I-I'll see you in a bit." He didn't wait for her response, finding himself back out in the hallway with the door closed behind him before he'd registered the movement.

_Jesus Christ._


	31. Lead Wings: Part 2

Dimitri practically ran the short distance to the theater, his cheeks barely cooled by the time he met Vladimir on the grand stone steps as the sun slipped behind the building. He found his partner more red-faced than he and pacing up a storm.

"Anya's coming," Dimitri said as he seated himself on the steps behind Vladimir, who acknowledged him with a brief hand in the air without slowing his feet. Dimitri tried to get comfortable, throwing his coat over his knee and staring out into the distant lights of the city. All he could see was Anya's naked backside in his mind. It was as perfect as he'd imagined...

Vladimir's wheezing caught his attention. "You alright?"

Vladimir nodded. "Just...having trouble breathing. Probably anxiety..." He started coughing hard enough to rattle bones. Dimitri jumped up and guided him to a seat on the steps, a hand on his back. He had never seen him quite so bad off.

"Listen, we don't have anything to be nervous about," Dimitri said. "She's the princess."

When the fit subsided, Vladimir waved Dimitri off. "I know, I know but - "

"No, no you  _don't_  know," Dimitri said, straightening. If the truth could calm Vladimir enough to avoid a hospital visit tonight, so be it. "I was the boy, in the palace. The one who opened the wall. She's the real thing, Vlad."

Vladimir's eyes bugged out of his head. " _What?_  You were...?" He looked at Dimitri as if he were a stranger for a long time. "That was  _true?_  And you never told me?"

"I've never told anyone. That's how I'm sure." Vladimir had never told Dimitri about his daughter either, but he wasn't going to throw that in his face.

Vladimir stared off into the distance, his jaw slack as he slowly shook his head. "That means our Anya has found her family." He tried to get up and Dimitri grabbed his elbow to help. "We have actually found the heir to the Russian throne." His voice changed when he met Dimitri's eyes, true understanding turning his own dark with sympathy. "And you - "

"Will walk out of her life forever," Dimitri finished for him, heading down the steps toward Sophie's car which had just pulled up at the curb.

Vladimir followed. "But - "

Dimitri whirled on him with a bittersweet smile. "Come on, Vlad. Princesses don't marry kitchen boys."

"I know, but -"

"We're going to go through with this as if nothing has changed." Dimitri stared Vladimir down, willing him to understand that he was doing this for Anya.

"We cannot take the reward, Dimitri. Not now." Vladimir's low voice had turned gutteral with resolve, though he gripped his top hat in his hands like the decision caused him physical pain.

Dimitri sighed in relief. At least that part of his plan wouldn't lose him his best friend. "I know."

"You've got to tell her."

"Tell me what?"

Dimitri jumped, turning to find Anya standing before him, holding closed a glamorous coat trimmed in white fur that looked like it cost more than all the money he'd ever made. A knowing, naughty smile spread across her face. Dimitri couldn't help but blush, the glimpse of her au naturel perfection forever burned into his mind. "How...how beautiful you look," he said in response, taking her in. With a mere touch of color on her lips and cheeks and diamonds glittering at her ears and throat and in her hair, she was a vision before she had even removed her coat.

She bit her lip and ducked her head. "Well, thank you. You clean up pretty nice yourself. You too, Vlad."

Vladimir acknowledged her with a murmur of thanks, too distracted by Dimitri's exposé to greet her with his usual geniality. Anya didn't notice, eagerly taking the arm Dimitri had offered with a practiced grin to escort her inside the theater.

Vladimir's hand found Dimitri's shoulder as they walked by. He met his gaze and they engaged in a silent argument for a fleeting moment, Vladimir urging him to reveal the truth to Anya and Dimitri vehemently refusing before Sophie's tap on Vladimir's back made him turn away.

Dimitri tore himself away from Anya just long enough to check their coats once they were inside. When he returned, he found her standing halfway up the colossal grand staircase on the landing, her full glory revealed to him for the first time.

And she...

She was...

Beautiful was not the word. Even exquisite was woefully inadequate, a paltry description for a woman who was clearly a goddess, enrobed in cobalt sky from her bust line to the marble floor with the stars themselves glittering in the fabric of her train. She  _glowed_. Anya was so stunning the thick crowd of Parisians waiting along either side of the stairs and in the lobby all stared and quieted at the sight of her as if she'd stolen all their words.

Oblivious to the attention, Anya slightly raised arms sheathed up to her biceps in white silk gloves and widened her eyes expectantly at Dimitri below her.

Dimitri snapped out of his open-mouthed rapture and trotted up the stairs to join her.

Sophie and Vladimir found them soon after they arrived in the balcony, where everything from floor to ceiling was covered in a rich red velvet. Sophie adjusted her plumed turban and directed them to their assigned area before taking her leave to sit with the Empress in her private box near the stage. The three remaining took their seats, Anya and Vladimir in the front with Vladimir settling in behind them after handing them programs for the night's entertainment.

Dimitri squinted through the tiny gold opera glasses Sophie had left behind, his heart stuttering when he spotted her seated with the Dowager Empress, formidable in her full royal regalia even from this distance. Dimitri's palms began to sweat.

"Look - there she is," he whispered, holding the ornate binoculars up for Anya to see.

Anya took them from his hand and emitted a little gasp when she spotted the imperial matriarch. "Wow..." she breathed. "Dimitri, can you believe it?"

"Of course I can," he said, though he had been tempted to pinch himself since they'd arrived. There had been so many times he didn't think they would make it here.

" _Please_  let her remember me," Dimitri thought he heard Anya mumble in a prayer as the lights dimmed and curtains opened on the stage to dignified applause.

Neither of them saw much of the ballet. Anya studied Empress Marie while Dimitri watched Anya, her restlessness progressing from her twisting her ballet program into a thin paper tube to ripping it into tiny pieces that littered her lap.

Slightly amused, he took her hand to give it something else to do. "It's gonna be fine," he said in her ear, threading her gloved fingers through his own. Anya smiled her thanks and left her hand in his throughout the rest of the first act.

When the lights came up for the intermission, Dimitri swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and helped Anya to a stand. "Come on, I guess it's time."

Their final destination lay down the curved hall on the other side of the opulent theater. Anya never let go of Dimitri's hand, gripping it tighter and tighter the closer they came to the Dowager's door, her whole arm shaking like a leaf. He had to go after her twice when her nerves won out and she tried to run back to their box, where they'd left Vladimir snoring in his chair.

"Hey," Dimitri told her once they stood together in front of the imposing mahogany door, "you're gonna be great." When Anya looked at him like a startled doe, he let his voice get a little commanding. "Say 'yes'."

She flushed suddenly, then smiled a little. "Sure. Fine.  _Yes_."

"Good," Dimitri said with an answering smirk. He took a deep breath and put his game face on. What reason did he have to be nervous? Anya was who she claimed to be, he was sure of it, and what he was about to do - charming little old ladies into giving him what he wanted? He was the fucking best at it. "Wait here just a moment. I'll go in and announce you properly."

He turned to go and felt a tug on his sleeve. "Dimitri."

"You still don't believe me?" He faced her again, brow crinkling.

Anya became atypically flustered, her vague hand gestures as uncertain as she now appeared. "No, I do, I mean - I just -" She sighed hard. "Look, we've been through a lot together..." She paused, her lowered eyes rising like the moon to meet Dimitri's and giving him a fresh heart attack. Shades of that look she'd had, the coquettish one she'd worn with such abandon back in her hotel room, made an encore appearance.

Just what was she trying to say?

Dimitri couldn't wait to find out. He took a larger step than necessary toward her until he stood so close he could smell the sweetness of the spring evening on her skin. An eager grin overtook his face before he could hide it. "Uh-huh..."

"And I just wanted to..."

He was in very real danger of kissing her right then and there if she didn't spit it out. "Yes? Wanted to what?"

"Well...thank you, I guess." All hint of teasing gone, her smile became guileless and sweet. It reminded Dimitri of his dastardly nature with the clarity of a switchblade at his throat and he swallowed, hard. "Yes, thank you for everything."

He should  _tell_  her everything. Right now. "Anya, I..."

"Yes?" She blinked at him, hope shining from the depths of her eyes - for what, Dimitri didn't know for sure. But he could guess from the way her teeth caught her lip what she was thinking about.

Would she still want him if she knew the truth?

"I'm...I...um..." Dimitri frowned in frustration at the disconnect between his mouth and brain.

" _Yes?_  What is it?" Anya's eyes widened further in anticipation.

Dimitri opened his mouth, filled his lungs with a heavy breath, felt the words gather on his tongue like splinters.

He sighed. "I wanted to wish you good luck, I guess." He couldn't do it. Part cowardice, part martydom, Dimitri's nerve failed him. It would be easier to let her go in the end if he kept his mouth shut.

"Oh." Her voice softened with disappointment.

Dimitri took her gloved hand and touched his mouth to her knuckles. "Good luck, Anya."

He surpressed a sharp intake of breath when she leaned forward and brushed a feather-light kiss against his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. "Thank you. Again." She smiled.

Clearing his throat, Dimitri tried to collect himself. "Well, here goes."

The Dowager's private balcony came furnished with its own parlor, complete with candlelit wall sconces of gold and paintings from antiquity. Dimitri slipped inside and let the door close behind his back.

Sophie's blue eyes sparkled beneath a heavy layer of dark eyeshadow when she saw him. Her beloved oversized ruffles forming the sleeves of her gown this time, she burst into a grin and gestured for him to meet her at the balcony opening, where a heavy curtain of blood-red velvet was gathered on either side to allow passage into the box. Dimitri's breathing became shallow, but the generous cut of his tuxedo pants hid the trembling of his knees.

"Please inform Her Majesty, The Dowager Empress, that I have found her granddaughter, the Grand Duchess Anastasia. She's waiting to see her just outside the door." His announcement was loud. Meaty. Impossible to ignore.

Sophie hopped a little in what Dimitri assumed was appreciation for his fervor and said with contrived outrage, "I'm very sorry young man, but the Dowager Empress...she will see  _no one_..." and threw in a wink for good measure.

"You may tell that impertinent young man that I have seen enough 'Grand Duchess Anastasias' to last me a lifetime."

Sophie had barely finished her sentence when Dimitri heard the raspy Russian words of pure ice come from the balcony. He'd heard it before, that decisive and forceful tone the royals used with the servants in the palace. He felt like someone had poured cold water down his back.

The Dowager didn't bother with a backward glance. She'd spoken without so much as turning her head, the well-preserved lines of her slender neck and proud shoulders unbroken, not a single silver hair on her head uncoiffed.

Sophie's light dimmed. "Oh, you'd better go." She placed a hand on Dimitri's shoulder. "She's in a mood tonight," she added in a whisper.

Dimitri looked at Sophie like she'd lost her mind. Was she really planning on escorting him out and he hadn't yet had a chance to plead his case? To plead  _Anya's_  case? "Please, let me just - "

"If you'll excuse me," said Marie, louder this time, "I wish to live out the remainder of my lonely life in peace."

She was so  _bitter_. Even if Dimitri understood why, it didn't mean her sarcastic condescension didn't piss him off. He choked it down when Sophie closed the curtain between himself and the Dowager and tried to get him to follow her to the door, ducking through the curtain the second Sophie turned her back.

He hadn't expected this to be easy.

He snapped the fabric closed behind him, cautiously approaching the monarch in the near-dark of the quiet theater. "Your Majesty, I intend you no harm." He kept his voice low and as non-threatening as he could manage, sidling between the close-set balcony chairs. "My name is Dimitri...I used to work at the palace."

Marie reared back as if he'd taken a shit in the seat next to her instead of sitting down in it. She jumped up with more grace than he'd expected from a woman her age, slapping the ballet program she'd been holding into her vacated seat. "Well, that's one I haven't heard, I must say."

She began to stride from the balcony in a flourish of voluminous fabric, leaving a soft trail of peppermint scent in her wake. Dimitri stumbled after her over the empty seats in a panic. "Wait, don't go -  _please!_ " Dimitri beat her to the curtain and threw his body into her path, arms spread so she would have to physically move him to get by. "If you'll  _just_  hear me out -"

"I know what you're after!" the monarch spat, pointing an accusatory finger right in his face. "I've seen it before - men who train young women in the royal ways." She was so unexpectedly forceful Dimitri found himself cowering, just a little, which allowed her enough room sweep past him with a noise of disgust into the parlor.

This was going south, and much faster than he could have anticipated. He followed her, at a respectful distance this time, head bowed slightly as he watched her yank twice on a long velvet rope hanging from the ceiling. He tried another tack. "But if Your Highness would just listen - "

"Haven't  _you_  been listening? I've had enough!" She wouldn't let him speak. She would never let him speak, running right over him with her words, her tone...it made Dimitri feel dirty and low and unworthy and nothing in his life made him livid faster than that. She continued, nose upturned in derision and scowl firmly affixed to her royal brow. "I don't care how much you have fashioned this girl to look like her, sound like her or act like her - in the end, it  _never_  is her - "

"This time it  _is_  her!" Dimitri practically shouted, cutting  _her_  off for once. He had already ventured deep into the territory of disrespect; might as well go all in if it could get his point across.

The Dowager's sharp blue eyes narrowed, but not in outrage. In recognition. " _Dimitri_...I've heard of you."

Dimitri blinked, a hand of ice gripping his heart. "Sire?"

"You're that conman from St. Petersburg who was  _holding auditions_  to find an Anastasia look-a-like." Her lip curled. "You must be very good at what you do, to have your reputation proceed you all the way to France."

She  _saw_  him. Dimitri had been entirely unprepared for the Dowager Empress, the old woman whom he had planned to utterly deceive for the last ten years, to see straight through his cultivated facade to the inner ugliness he'd been trying to put behind him. If he had offered her a puff of lies, she'd have known it. But he hadn't. He'd come to her, now on his knees before her as she settled herself on the settee, with nothing but the truth for the first time in his life. And she had rejected it.

He didn't bother denying what he'd done. He bowed his head again, placing both hands atop hers in her lap with all the reverence he could muster, knowing he was crossing the line and not caring because  _Anya needed this_. "But Your Grace, we've come all the way from Russia just to see you -"

"And others have come from Timbuktu. You are no different."

"Your Highness,  _please_...it's not that, it's not what you think - "

"How much pain will you inflict on an old woman for money?" Marie stood and raised her hands out of his reach. "Remove him at once!"

Her last words she'd directed over Dimitri's shoulder, and his head turned to find two hulking men in dark suits reaching out to manhandle him to the door. "But she's Anastasia, I'm telling you!" The men were stronger than he'd thought, wrinkling his tuxedo jacket in their bruising grips as they dragged him away from the Dowager, who'd turned her back on the entire scene. Their grunts as they exerted themselves against Dimitri's resistance threatened to drown out his words, so he yelled them louder.

"She's the Grand Duchess...if you only speak to her, you'll see!"

With that, Dimitri was airborne, both feet swept off the ground as the security force picked him up and literally tossed him out of the balcony box, slamming the door behind them. Hair mussed and shirt disheveled and face burning red with humiliation, he landed hard on his side, a lovesick Icharus on lead wings that had never had a real chance of taking flight.

Dimitri had no sooner rolled onto his knees when he noticed the puddle of ink blue silk on the carpet before him, and he had to force the coward in him to look up.

He was on his hands and knees at Anastasia's feet, after all, just as in his nightmare at the palace the night they'd met. And from the look of horrified revulsion on her face, she had heard everything.


	32. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's darkest before dawn, folks. Excuse Anya for getting a little...gangsta. She's been through a lot.
> 
> I thought about breaking this chapter up like the others and decided against it, not wanting to disrupt the momentum of Anya's journey that has been building up to this event since Chapter 1. So it's long as hell. Hope you don't mind :)
> 
> We're almost at the end, y'all, can you believe it? I'm kinda bummed; this fic has somehow ended up being my life's work XD
> 
> Reviews = love and hopefully the last chapter before the holidays

_"You're that conman from St. Petersburg who was_ holding auditions _to find an Anastasia look-a-like."_

Her ear to the small gap in the balcony door, Anya's gasp emptied her lungs.

_Conman. St. Petersburg._

The moments since the day she went to the palace whizzed through her mind in a whir:

Dimitri's name whispered in Anya's ear by the old woman at the train station like some dirty secret...his living in the ruin of the Old Palace...the way he'd said she looked more like the Grand Duchess than the hundreds of other girls he'd seen before...their escape from the train...the way money just happened to appear with no real explanation...

The whispers, the smiles...

God, his fucking  _smile_. Anya had always felt Dimitri could get what he wanted out of anyone with that grin of his, and she was right. Turned out she was just another dope who'd fallen for it.

On day one he had looked her in the eye and said there was no reward money. A moment ago, when the Dowager had accused him of badgering her for that very reason, he hadn't denied it. Not once.

That meant Dimitri had lied to her since the day they met. Anya understood they were strangers at the beginning and neither of them had any real reason to trust the other at the time, but Dimitri had had countless opportunities to tell her to truth once they knew each other better, and he hadn't. Even after Ivan...and on the  _Tasha_...

Anya squeezed her eyes closed and staggered a few steps from the door, flushing hot and feeling like she was going to vomit. He had lied and manipulated her with more than just his words.

There was a commotion inside muffled by the partially closed door. Dimitri was raising his voice - no,  _yelling_  - at the elderly Dowager Empress of Russia. Anya's hand found her mouth in shock at his disrespect as she burned with her own shame for being involved at all.

How could he do this?

The door opened and the balcony seemed to spit Dimitri out on the ground at Anya's feet, the universe seeing fit for him to answer to her for his crimes.

The visual of him in his rumpled tuxedo prostrate before her was a small justice in itself, but it would never be enough. He froze when he raised his head to find her velvet pumps. In the time it took for his guilty gaze to rise to hers, Anya's own sense of disgrace had dissipated, replaced with a toxic stew of disgust and fury and violent heartache that had started to boil up through her body from her toes.

She couldn't swallow, her throat was so tight. Her skin felt like a body suit a size too small. Her heartbeat was a heavy, slow throb in her ears as her broken heart struggled to keep pumping blood so thickened with rage.

"It was all a lie, wasn't it." She knew the answer. Her tone was lifeless and flat, belying the earthquake of emotion that threatened to rend her in half.

"No...no." Dimitri scrambled to stand and right himself, but Anya stepped closer to ensure she filled his field of vision when he tried to look away. "'No reward.' That's what you said."

"Anya - "

"You  _used_  me...I was just part of your con to get her money." Her voice grew hoarse as she strained to avoid the hysterics threatening to take her over. It took everything she had not to jump on Dimitri and pound him into the ground like she would have back at the orphanage.

When he opened his mouth to respond, Anya knew she had to get away from him. She had to get out of the  _building_. The feeling inside her churned higher and hotter, and she would not be able to contain herself if she didn't leave while she still had some control.

She turned on her heel to stalk down the hall but Dimitri pursued her. "No, no, no, no... _look_...it may have started out that way, but everything's different now because you really  _are_  Anastasia... _you are!_ "

He was speaking so fast his words were running together and he was  _still lying_. Anya spun with clenched fists that would not stop trembling. She was about to lose it. "Just stop it!" She stared him down, eyes on fire. "From the very beginning, you lied! And I not only let myself  _believe_  you like a moron, I actually - " A choked sob welled up in her throat and cut her off. One stupid tear escaped before she could stop it. Just one. Anya angrily swiped it away so hard she smeared eye makeup across her cheek and on the fingertips of her white glove.

"Anya,  _please_..." She had turned away again and Dimitri hurried around from behind to keep her from walking away.

"I don't want to hear it, Dimitri!"

So  _stupid_. She actually  _loved_  him, like an idiot, like the kind of woman she had sworn she would never be, while he'd played her from the very beginning. And she'd let it happen.

She was almost as angry with herself as she was with him. She  _knew_  better.

" _Move._ " Dimitri blanched like he saw murder in her eyes when he blocked her path again, as did the other theater patrons beginning to gawk at the spectacle they were making.

"Anya, wait! When you spoke of the hidden door in the wall opening, and the little boy...listen to me, that was - "

"You're a fucking liar." The words escaped her clenched teeth in a long hiss as she poked him in the chest, harder with every syllable. "Everything you did, you did for yourself. The train, the ship..." Anya's jaw clenched. " _Latvia._ " She could still taste Ivan's stench on the back of her tongue. Vestiges of terror still made the pit of her stomach drop if she didn't actively push his memory away. She cocked her head at Dimitri in disdain, nostrils flaring. "You would have just let him rape me if it would have gotten you to the money faster, right?" Her lip curled in contempt and she spat on the fancy carpet, just missing his shiny dress shoes. "You piece of shit."

Dimitri's face crumpled as if her words had caused physical trauma. "God, Anya... _no_..." His desperation created a wildness in his eyes like a man perched on a cliff awaiting his impending death. "Anya, I swear on my mother's grave, I would never have let - "

"NO!" Anya screeched the word, startling herself and everyone else in the immediate vicinity. "You can swear on whatever dead person you want - I don't believe you!" He gaped in shock as if she had just stuck him between the ribs with a dagger. Anya shook from head to toe, trying to keep the tears behind the dam. She would never, ever let herself cry over Dimitri again.

She tried to escape one last time and Dimitri used his whole body to pen her in.

Anya exploded.

"FUCK YOU!" she somehow yelled in perfect French to a collective gasp from the crowd, shoving him back with both hands so hard he stumbled backwards and almost tripped over his own feet. Despite every instinct she'd had not to trust him, Dimitri had made her believe not just in he and Vladimir, but in her own ability to bring her impossible hope to fruition - to truly belong to someone who could love her for who she was, unconditionally. That Dimitri, if nothing else, was her  _friend_.

She'd never forgive him for that.

"I don't want to hear about anything I said or remembered - just leave me alone!"

"Anya - "

Her right arm was already in motion when he grabbed her left wrist, the impending slap a knee-jerk reaction, but her fingers curled into a fist mid-swing and Anya ended up socking Dimitri right in the mouth, painfully popping all of her knuckles. He and everyone else standing around them made a noise of surprise and dismay in unison, but Anya had already pushed through the mass of fine furs and jewels and made it halfway down the second set of stairs, headed for the coat check.

Chest still heaving, she could see Sophie's car parked in the lot off to the side once she ran through the front doors, but Anya didn't dare hunt down the driver for a ride back to the hotel. Thankfully, it was close enough to hoof it. She just hoped Coco's fancy heels didn't cover her feet in blisters.

Tucking the voluminous fur closer around her body against the chilly night air as she marched, Anya felt every bit the impostor the Dowager likely thought her to be. Every stitch of her borrowed finery felt like a lie against her skin. Every ounce of the makeup she'd thought had made her look so pretty earlier that night now felt like a clown mask. Dimitri had tainted everything.

Her feet pounded like a toothache before she'd walked two blocks. Undeterred, Anya slipped one off after the other, hooking two fingers into the backs to carry them both in one hand. Strangely, she found a tiny measure of relief in the feel of the cold, uneven cobblestones digging into her bare feet.

The authorities had found her this way as a child, shoeless and eating daintily out of trashcans. It was almost a year after she'd been delivered to the orphanage before Comrade Phlegmenkoff had allowed her to have her own, supposedly because they were short on supply. The beating she'd earned after the headmistress caught her sporting a worn leather pair she'd pilfered from the supply closet was the beginning of her first winter of hell as a motherless child.

Feeling the grit gather between her toes as she walked the dark Parisian street felt more normal to her than the impossibly soft mink brushing against her neck.

The sob tried to return, swirling and burning behind her ribs and closing off her throat again.

This was why she hadn't allowed herself to trust anyone. This was why she'd always kept her heart under lock and key. Anya had resisted Dimitri and his ideas with all her might, but he never gave up, not until she was finally putty in his hands. And now...now her heart had been broken twice. Once for a scumbag of a man she'd been foolish enough to fall in love with, and again for the family she'd so desperately wanted to be hers.

The temperature dropped steadily, transforming her panting breaths to clouds in the air and numbing her toes. She had half a mind to put the shoes back on but didn't want to get them as filthy as her feet. Instead, she walked faster when the facade of the hotel came into view a few blocks ahead.

Anya's relentless shivers made her joints ache by the time she clamored into the hotel lobby, garnering an odd look from the bellhop and the few guests sipping coffee in the high-backed chairs near the crackling fireplace.

Face aflame, Anya gave thanks that she'd remembered to tuck her room key inside her coat's inner pocket and didn't have to ask the snooty receptionist for another. She dashed down the hallway with her head down and slammed the door closed as soon as she got into her room.

The fireball of emotion she'd been running from since the theater caught up to her in the quiet stillness. Fists clenched so hard her fingertips left bruises in her palms, she paced the floor at the foot of her bed.

Dimitri had  _used_  her.

Vladimir had  _used_  her.

Like a means to an end, a plaything. Like fucking lottery ticket.

What had they planned to do once the truth came out? Take the money and run before they were caught and discard her like trash to pay the consequences? No one would believe she hadn't been a part of their scheme.

Anya sniffled hard, her nose running like a faucet out of nowhere. She'd had no idea her eyes had been leaking angry tears until a couple dripped onto her décolletage. She lifted her hand to wipe them away and saw the makeup smudges on her glove - as well as the bright red splotch of blood from Dimitri's mouth, a jarring sight against the pure white satin.

With a ferocious noise of abhorrence, Anya struggled to peel off the tight gloves and flung them on the bed. Then she threw her pair of heels together against the far window with a thud. A water glass on the desk found itself in her grip and she chucked it with a shriek, splintering it into a million glittering shards when it crashed into the wall next to the headboard.

Anya breathed hard, trying to catch her breath. She was done letting anyone else control her life. Maybe she'd find her way back to the fishing village, or maybe she'd make some kind of life for herself here in Paris. Maybe she'd even make a family on her own terms someday, since the one she'd been born with was lost to her forever. Regardless, it would be her choice. And right now, she had no idea where she'd go or what she'd do, but Anya was getting out of this hotel. She'd find a way to pay Sophie back for the broken property.

She stood on tiptoe to snatch her suitcase off the closet shelf with renewed purpose and tossed it onto the bed with a grunt, still sniffling and periodically wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

Anya didn't need Dimitri or Vladimir. She didn't need anyone. So she'd made a mistake and had been knocked onto her backside for it - fine. She sure as hell wasn't going to stay that way. Not allowing herself to think too hard about the gifted clothes she was torn about taking, Anya threw any piece of fabric her hands found in the dresser drawers or on a hanger haphazardly into the suitcase.

A knock sounded at the door.

Anya froze, holding her breath.  _Dimitri_. She hoped he would think she was already gone and she wouldn't have to see him. When the knock came again, Anya yelled over her shoulder. "Go away, Dimitri!"

When the knock came a third time, Anya let loose a string of Russian curses.

Surprisingly, the door creaked open, illuminating the bed with a widening triangle of light from the hallway. Anya realized with a start she had forgotten to lock it.

Well, if he wanted round two, she would give it to him.

Anya spun around on the attack. "Dimitri, you've got some balls to -  _oh!_ "

There was a woman at the door wearing a floor-length violet gown, statuesque and icy. Light from the wall sconces on the wall behind her played across the diamonds set into the crown atop her silver hair.

It was  _the_  woman. The Dowager.

Anya shrank back with wide eyes and a deep red face, mortified by her gutter behavior. "I-I'm so sorry, I thought you were - "

"I know very well who you thought I was," the Dowager announced, striding into the room as if it were her own. Her polished cane clicked against the wood floor but did nothing to diminish her stature. "I can understand your sentiment; I have recently made his acquaintance." She studied Anya through a suspicious squint. "And who exactly are you?"

Anya stared back for a long time, too astonished by the turn of events to manage any extraneous movement. How many times had she imagined the moment when she would meet her grandmother face to face? She had thought she would feel ecstatic, but now all she felt was stupefied, as if every other emotion had been shorted out by her shock.

Dimitri and Vladimir had been feeding her lies all along. It was more likely Anya could sprout wings and fly back to Russia than for her to be this woman's kin...yet there was something familiar about her manner that made Anya's heart swell and ache in equal measure. It reminded her of the haunting feeling in the Winter Palace, the fleeting sensation of longing, of trying to recall the best parts of a dream only to have them slip away.

"I-I was hoping you could tell me."

The Dowager sighed, moving deeper into the large room but still keeping several paces between them. "My dear, I'm old, and I am tired of being conned and tricked."

"I don't want to trick you, I swear." Anya clasped her hands together before her, trying to keep a hold on her nerves. "I would never...I didn't know he was going to do this."

The Dowager raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, presumably understanding the "he" Anya was referring to. "And I suppose the money doesn't interest you either?"

Anya shook her head. " _No_ , Your Majesty. Dimitri had told me there was no reward when I'd asked. I didn't find out about it until tonight." The mention of Dimitri's deceit made the sick, sinking feeling in her stomach return. She unfurled her hands and spread them, holding her arms out to bare her soul. "I just want to know who I am. Whether or not I belong to a family...your family. That's it."

The Dowager, who had turned away toward the open window, turned back with a sardonic, closed-lipped smile. Both of her gloved hands toyed with her cane. "You're a very good actress. Best yet, in fact, but...I've had enough." She punctuated her statement with a disapproving frown and began to walk back the way she'd come.

Anya couldn't speak, nor did she notice how unnaturally slow the monarch was moving toward the door. She was too consumed with trying to commit to memory every detail of the Dowager's presence to sustain her in the future - not the thumb-sized sapphires glittering at her earlobes or the yards of fine fabric that made up her elegant gown. The grandmotherly things. The huskiness of her voice, the innate grace of her movements. The smooth, clear complexion, the soft folds of skin at corners of her sharp blue eyes and around her mouth, her scent of...of...

"Peppermint?" Anya had caught the faintest whiff of it as the Dowager had passed and had smelled it with her whole body, the pang of recognition pealing through her like a gong.

The Dowager paused to glance over her shoulder with another raised eyebrow. "An oil for my hands."

"Yes..." Anya's eyes slid closed, flashes like snippets of movie scenes playing behind her lids. Her wild hair clinging to the streams of tears on her cheeks. A dark puddle on a Persian rug. The slippery feel of cool oil on her fingertips when she rubbed her little hand through the fibers, aching.

Her mouth moved unbeknownst to her as she watched like an observer in her own head. "I...I spilled a bottle...and it forever smelled of peppermint...like you." When the images started to fade, Anya pulled her gold necklace free of her dress and gripped the pendant in her fist, desperately trying to draw the strength to chase them down.

It worked. "I used to lie there on that rug and  _oh_  how I missed you when you went away...when you came here...to Paris." The memories went to black again, like a wall slammed down in front of them. It was as if there was a void in her mind vaguely shaped like the Dowager, but she wasn't sure how to place the puzzle piece.

"What is that?" When Anya looked up, the Dowager was seated on the tufted bench to the vanity across from Anya's bed, her hand gesturing.

Anya followed with her eyes to the gold chain now dangling from her neck. "This? I've always had it, ever since before I can remember." Her first memory of it was the fight she'd had to endure to keep it, with a grown man who lived in an alley who'd tried to take it to pawn for food. He'd bloodied her lip but Anya had been proud of the scratches she'd left all over his face before she'd managed to scurry away. "I woke up one day and it was right here, against my heart." She pressed a hand over the pendant, against her chest. "I didn't know what it meant, but I knew it was important. I knew I had to come here."

The Dowager's face paled, a strange gleam in her eyes. "May I?" She patted the empty space on the bench next to her.

"Of course." Anya hurried over, carefully settling on the edge next to the Dowager after handing over the necklace, suppressing her anxiety about giving it to someone else for the first time.

The Dowager stared at the delicate chain coiled in her palm like a loved one. "It...was our secret, my Anastasia's and mine."

_A secret. A song._

Anya could feel something chipping away at the dam to her memories. There was something familiar about that necklace in the Dowager's hand...

The older woman produced a small handbag made of the same fabric of her gown, apparently having been hidden within her voluminous sleeve and attached to her wrist with a small strap. She settled the pouch in her lap and pulled forth what looked like a round jewelry box made of gold, no bigger than the palm of her hand.

Anya didn't know how she knew it was more than that, but she did. She could see the movie flashes again - a party, a gift.

A promise.

The Dowager reverently placed the box in Anya's hand along with the necklace. In that instant, she could see it plain as day: the smiling Dowager - Marie Feodorovna, her Grandmama - handing her that very box along with the chain she'd been wearing around her neck for years. The necklace was the key, in every sense of the word.

She  _remembered._

"The music box," she breathed. "So...so you could still sing me to sleep while you were in Paris..." And the tune that had always lived in her heart, the nostalgic melody that formed the soundtrack to both her dreams and nightmares, rose in a hum into Anya's throat as she inserted the end of the pendant into the side of the music box and turned it. " _Hear this song and remember..._ "

Marie's shaking voice rose to meet hers in perfect unison, word for word.

_"Soon you'll be...home with me...once upon a December."_

Her eyes burned and the image of the Dowager went wavy. All her other memories were hazy and gray at the moment, but for now, she remembered Marie and that was all that mattered.

"Oh, Anastasia...my  _Malenkaya..._ " Marie snatched Anya into the most profound hug, enveloping her in an almost painful warmth that penetrated through to her crippled spirit. She stayed wrapped up inside her grandmother's peppermint-laced embrace for ages, until a deep shudder from the Dowager made Anya wipe her eyes and lean back.

Marie's soft hands found Anya's cheeks, her chin, drifting over her face in disbelief, as if she was trying unearth the child she had known with her fingertips. Happy tears trickling down her face, Anya closed her eyes and allowed her free roam. When she looked at her grandmother again, her eyes were wet and red but her smile remained.

"I...I have searched for you for so long, my darling. And to think I had given up hope..."

Anya shook her head and grabbed Marie's hand, pressing it to her cheek, trying to convey her happiness and gratitude without the words she was incapable of speaking.

"What happened to you?" Marie continued, voice breaking. "I immediately wanted to go back to the city to find you but it was deemed too dangerous. No one knew where you were...I'd feared you were dead until I'd heard rumors of a little girl who looked like you wandering St. Petersburg."

What little Anya could recall from that period of her life was more feelings and emotions than actual events. She remembered the squalidness of it, and the cold.

"I don't remember much. I woke up one day with the necklace around my neck and I was hungry. That's all I knew. I didn't know my name or where I lived, so I just wandered. My whole existence was finding food and trying not to freeze to death."

Marie went white, eyes slipping closed and brow furrowing as if she were trying not to faint.

"I did that until the authorities caught me and turned me in to the orphanage." Anya thought of the dried blood that had matted her hair for weeks back then. "The doctor who examined me said I hit my head on something. He thought that might have been why I couldn't remember anything." Anya squeezed Marie's hand in her lap when she hung her royal head. "But I remember you." It was the truth. She may have only been able to see Marie in disjointed fragments without context in her mind, but she was there.

Marie erupted with a fresh deluge of tears. "I am so sorry, little one."

"No, Grandmama," Anya said, beyond happy that the endearment felt so natural on her tongue, "it wasn't your fault." She smiled, her own tears slipping into her mouth at the corners. "You  _looked_  for me. I found  _you._ " She gave a tearful little laugh. "And here we are."

At that, Marie crushed Anya in another hug, and Anya thought she heard her say in her ear: "Please...if it should not be you, don't ever tell me."

When she let her go at last, the Dowager's smile shone so bright, Anya thought she must have imagined her whispered plea. "Come. We will go to my home here in the city immediately. We will not be apart another moment." She pulled Anya to her feet with surprising strength before leaving her to rush to the window. "It would appear my automobile remains but not my driver...where is your telephone? Perhaps Sophie can send hers..."

Dazed, Anya directed her to the phone and sank onto the foot of the bed with a wide-eyed stare. This felt like a dream. The sound of her grandmother's raspy voice rising in pitch and tone in excitement as she spoke with Sophie barely registered. This was it. Anya had gotten what she had dreamed of her entire life - a family, someone who loved her. She could see that love beaming from the Dowager's eyes, the deep blue so much like her own.

So why did she still feel so empty?

Marie had barely hung up after giving Sophie a play-by-play of the night's events when the phone rang again. "Come, darling," she said after hanging up the receiver on the dresser for the final time, "the driver is here." She reached out her hand to Anya, her familial smile an odd contrast with her diamond crown.

Anya was finding it more and more difficult to smile past the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, drowning her new joy, but she managed it. Before she retrieved her discarded shoes, she very discreetly rubbed her feet as clean as she could against the carpet. "What about my things? Sophie let me borrow quite a few - "

Marie shook her head. "Don't worry. We'll send for them later."

She took Marie's hand and let her lead her outside. Sophie's driver met them at the front door of the hotel with an umbrella for the heavy rain that had descended upon the city. Marie wouldn't hear of him escorting each of them in turn to the car. She linked one arm with Anya's and used her other hand to lift her abundant skirts above the puddles in the street as the driver handed them into the cabin, Anya sliding in first to allow her grandmother the seat closest to the curb.

The door closed and bathed them in darkness, the meager light from the street lamp nearby enough only to draw them each in silhouette.

"I still cannot believe it." Marie's voice had grown prayerful in its softness. She still hadn't let go of Anya's hand, almost as if she were afraid to.

Anya squeezed her fingers with as much fervor as she could without hurting her. "Neither can I."

Driver now behind the wheel, the car gently lurched into a street virtually free traffic due to the late hour. Marie's eyes never left Anya, the dignified lines of her face draped in new shadows as the car passed from light to darkness and back again under the street lights. "What is it exactly...that you  _can_  remember?" She asked, her words halting and timid. "From our life before?"

Anya had been dreading the question. Her thoughts at the moment revealed nothing, as dark as the inside of the car. "Some things, I guess...sometimes. I get flashes. A detail here and there. Like your scent, for example...or - " Anya shut her eyes and reached into the blankness of her mind for the first memories that floated to the surface - "Papa's beard. Or Mama's pearls." Anya looked down at her lap. "Most of the time, it's just black in my head when I try to remember, like there's a block there that I can't see past."

She looked up into Marie's sad eyes, her own burning with tears at the ready. "I'm sorry. I wish I could remember more."

"Oh, my love...you have absolutely nothing to feel sorry about. Even if you never remember everything, I will still be right here." When she reached out and stroked Anya's cheek with the back of her hand, Anya closed her eyes at the comforting touch of warm satin. "But I think I may have something that may help."

Even after they arrived at Marie's home, a miniature palace hidden away in an exclusive neighborhood near the Seine, Marie still hadn't let go of Anya's hand. They exited the car and walked through patches of moonlight to pass through the oversized front doors together. Anya shivered as she followed Marie up the steep wooden staircase, the dampness of her gown from the rain taking its toll.

The Dowager had the maid who appeared at the door to her palatial bedroom bring hot tea and nightclothes for Anya, who slipped out of her wet dress in a bathroom as large as the orphanage kitchen. Still in her undergarments, Anya's fingers stroked the fine pink silk of the folded pajamas still sitting on the sink.

It took her a long time to brave the mirror, afraid of what she'd see, of bearing witness to Dimitri and Vladimir's betrayal like a tattoo on her forehead. Her face was a mess, as expected. Her eyes were rimmed red and puffy from crying tears fed by both fury and joy. Very carefully, she took down her hair and washed her face with the almond-scented soap the Dowager had provided. She rubbed the suds all over her face and neck and shoulders and feet, wiping her skin with a damp cloth again and again, until she felt scrubbed clean of Dimitri and Vladimir, of Ivan, of even her childhood in the orphanage. When she finished and her cheeks were pink and glistening and her eyes were bright, she surprised herself with a genuine smile. It was nice to feel a little more like Anya again. She had worried the days of knowing her real self were behind her.

She left the bathroom to find Marie stretched out on the navy blue chaise near the balcony, smiling down at a basket full of knickknacks and papers. She was dressed for bed as well, her taupe nightgown with matching robe pooling around her against the velvet upholstery.

Looking up and smiling at Anya from across the way, she said, "Come...see if any of this is familiar to you, darling."

Anya padded across the ornate rug to her side and sat down on the floor. Marie grinned, reaching into a basket on the gilded side table. "Look here - the drawing you gave me, remember?" She handed the watercolor painting to Anya, still chuckling.

Anya took it from her hands, the delicate paper crackling. In her mind's eye she could see a dark-haired girl in a long dress the color of cream, frowning down at the same painting in her hand while Anya looked on with pride and anticipation. Olga, her sister. Anya had been trying to get her opinion on her artwork and had not liked her answer.

She giggled. "I do! Olga made me so mad - she said it looked like a pig riding a donkey." Anya raised an astute eyebrow at her own childish efforts. "She was right." She burst out laughing and her grandmother joined in.

"Oh...hearing your laughter, I once again hear my Nicky, your dear father," Marie said once their laughter had faded to intermittent chuckles." She reached down and cupped Anya's chin with a gentle hand. "But you have the beauty of your mother, Alexandra, Empress of all Russia. As did your sisters." She released Anya and turned to the basket again, this time pulling out a large photograph in a silver frame. She handed the frame to Anya with both hands and a sad smile.

Anya stared down at the frame, her arms cradling it in her lap. It was a photo of all the Romanov children. Olga, Maria, Tatiana, Alexei. And Anya. That was her face in the photo among them. All at once, the wall in her mind broke apart and the memories flooded in - the parties, the fights, the pranks, the tears, the laughter, the games...

"I remember now." She looked up at her grandmother, her eyes brimming, her heart about to break all over again. "I remember how much I loved them, and Mama and Papa. And you."

Marie did nothing to hide her own tears. She reached out to Anya again and placed a soft hand on her wrist to comfort her. "They would not want us to live in the past, not now that we have found each other."

Anya gulped, trying to rein herself back in before she couldn't anymore. "I...I think I need to lie down."

"Of course. You can take my bed, if you like." Marie delicately dabbed at her eyes before pushing herself off the couch. "I'll be just a moment."

Anya dragged herself over to the bed, taking little notice of the gold fixtures or velvet hangings above the headboard, or the soft light from the chandelier she doubted could be turned off. She had never felt so depleted, quickly curling herself into a fetal position once she had slipped between the covers.

The rest of her family was dead. Her mother, her father. All her sisters. Her little brother.

Her best friend, Irina.

Her self respect.

Her paternal relationship with Vladimir.

Everything she and Dimitri could have been.

When the tears came this time, Anya couldn't have stopped them if she tried. There was a hole where her heart should have been that had filled with a profound grief for everyone and everything she had lost and she wailed into the pillow, gasping for air as she soaked the fine silk pillowcase.

Just when she was afraid she would come apart at the seams, she caught the scent of peppermint and felt her grandmother's soft arms encircle her from behind and hold her together, keeping her in one piece to weep until her well of tears had gone dry.


	33. Something of an End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more chapters to go, y'all - hang in there!
> 
> J.F

Dimitri could recall every detail of the day his mother died as if it had happened moments ago. From the uproar in the servants' quarters, to the complex stench of rot in their bedroom where she'd been hanging for hours in the dark. The colorlessness of her face under the doctor's flashlight before he hid her under an old sheet. The unnatural chill of her skin as he held on to her hand with all his might until the guards snatched her body away.

He remembered the empty, sunken feeling in his gut most of all, a pressure that had felt like a blistering lead weight on his chest before he went numb and stayed that way - until the day he met a young Anastasia in the palace kitchen.

He'd thought the pain would kill him back then. Tonight, seeing the look on Anya's face when she accused him of using her attempted rape to his advantage...well, it felt close to that.

Especially because she hadn't been entirely wrong. He  _had_  used it. He'd used her faith in him after his rescue to lock in her trust. And it had worked.

The thought of it disgusted him now.

Dimitri had failed the only other woman he had ever loved. Though he'd been willing to give up everything to make it right in the end, he couldn't even give her the family she yearned for to make it worth the sacrifice.

So he stood hunched against the cold behind a marble column with that in mind, his overcoat draped dejectedly over his arm, eaten alive by the knowledge that he was worthy of Anya's acrimony but not her love.

He hadn't been able to raise his head since he'd left the performance hall. Anya had disappeared without a trace by the time he'd gone outside, likely having fled to the hotel. Dimitri had thought to follow her - knew he should have - but couldn't make his feet abandon the front steps of the grandiose building. He didn't have the answers for all the barbed "whys" he knew she'd send flying his way. Not ones she'd want to hear, at least.

After all, he'd lied in the beginning because he was as despicable as she'd accused him of being. He'd  _continued_  lying after everything changed between them because his love for her at the time was self-serving. His reasons didn't matter. Same outcome, either way.

Vladimir had looked sick when Dimitri returned to their balcony box in defeat with a bloody lip and woke him from his nap with the news. Vladimir left the theater early with Sophie after she arrived a short time later in distress, explaining that the incensed Dowager had sent her away for the evening. She'd had only sad, downcast eyes for Dimitri before they exited.

It felt stupid to stay until the end of a performance he had no interest in, so Dimitri had gone out to the street to lick his wounds, both physical and otherwise.

The grand entrance had been deserted in the half hour since the ballet returned from intermission. Curiosity made him turn toward the sound of heels clicking against the stone.

He did a double-take, spying the Dowager strolling proudly to her idling car from his haunt in the shadows.

_Holy shit._

Dimitri snatched off his top hat and glanced around for any attendants who might have been trailing behind, seeing no one. She was alone.

His body already in motion, he couldn't think about the real possibility of his being arrested or shot on sight for what he was about to do. This was his last chance to do right by Anya, even if she hated him forever.

In the thirty seconds it took for the Dowager's driver to close her car door and walk around to the other side, Dimitri had already jumped behind the wheel, thrown his belongings into the front passenger seat and stomped on the clutch and gas pedal so hard the vehicle burned rubber.

As the car jerked forward, he silently thanked Vladimir for teaching him to drive back when he'd needed a stack of newspapers to see over the steering wheel. Adrenaline burned through his veins so hotly he forgot to be afraid of the thudding sound he heard in the back seat and the successive noise of surprise.

He turned the wheel hard in his haste and rounded the next corner practically on two wheels, just missing a parked car.

"Ilya! Slow down!"

That tone again. The woman's inborn lordliness reminded Dimitri that it was  _her_  stubbornness that had driven him to such drastic lengths.

"I'm  _not_  Ilya," he snapped as he half-turned to glare at her behind him through the car's open partition, "and I  _won't_  slow down - not until you listen."

Though he had to refocus on the road and missed her reaction, he heard her appalled gasp loud and clear.

" _You..._ how  _dare_  you! Stop this car immediately!  _Stop this car!_ " She emphasized each of her last words with a bang of her cane on the floorboards.

He pulled up to the hotel soon after. The few minutes that had passed since he'd revealed himself had felt like hours with the Dowager making threats on his life the entire way.

He threw the car in park, jumped out, stalked around to her side and yanked the door open.

"You  _have_  to talk to her!" Furious, he stuck a finger in the Dowager's unflinching face at first, just as she had to him, but felt a pang of guilt at such brazen disrespect and let his hand drop. "Just  _look_  at her!  _Please!_ "

The cabin lights illuminated the aged woman nestled beneath a snowy mink coat, her expression bored as she looked down her nose at Dimitri as if he'd asked if she wanted red wine or white.

She looked away into the distance, through the windshield. The sharpness of her clipped words was his only clue to how livid she had to be. Her grip tightened on the handle of her cane. "I won't be badgered by you a moment longer. I'll have the hotel manager contact the police on my behalf - "

"Do you recognize this?" Dimitri took a knee to meet her at eye level and held up the trump card he'd hidden inside the inner pocket of his tuxedo. The tiny golden jewelry box from the palace was meant to be insurance, a last resort. Now it was his only hope.

She gasped, eyes widening. "Where...where did you get this?" Her once derisive tone had become quiet and pained as she took the box from his hand and held it up before her to catch the light behind her head. "I don't understand how you could..." All traces of softness in her blue eyes disappeared when she faced him again.  _"How did you get this?"_

"Your Majesty," Dimitri said with his heart in his throat, "I  _know_  you've been hurt, but it's just possible that she's been as lost and alone as you. Just  _talk_  to her. That's all I'm asking."

The Dowager's jaw remained set for another moment before her face slackened and shoulders drooped as the fight drained out of her body. She stared at the jewelry box cradled in her gloved hands, then looked back at him. Surprisingly, this time those classic features held a hint of a smile. "You'll stop at nothing, will you? Not even kidnapping."

Dimitri smirked and held his hand out to her, a peace offering. "I'm probably about as stubborn as you are."

"Clearly." She surprised him again by rolling her eyes.

The Dowager took his hand and he helped her out of the car onto the walkway. She held on to him just long enough to get her footing, then promptly swatted his hand away. "Your assistance is no longer required."

_So stubborn._  Dimitri almost laughed. So much of the fire she still possessed he could see in Anya.

He bowed to hide his bittersweet smile. "Room 107, Your Majesty."

Marie acknowledged him only with a pointed look before she turned and walked into the building.

She was gone less than five minutes before Dimitri started pacing the banquette and cursing under his breath. Anya's room was on the ground floor and he couldn't see what was happening, but it was a good sign when another few minutes passed and the Dowager hadn't reappeared.

Wasn't it?

Stomach in a knot, he retrieved his coat and hat from the car and rushed into the hotel, ducking into the lobby to surreptiously watch for their exit. Praying when they left they did so together.

Still looking over his shoulder to avoid missing them, Dimitri made his way to a stool at the end of the bar to the right of the wide wooden staircase. They'd have to pass right by him to leave. As long as he kept his back to the lobby, they shouldn't spot him.

_"Monsieur?"_

Dimitri glanced up to find the bartender staring expectantly and frowned back at him. Something about the man's pencil-thin mustache rubbed him the wrong way.

"Vodka,  _s'il vous plait,_ " he said, testing out the smidgen of French he'd picked up during his brief time in the city.

When the bartender shook his head, Dimitri scowled and slipped back into Russian. "What, I'm not allowed to have vodka?"

Turning up his narrow nose, the bartender made an exaggerated gesture with his arm at the array of bottles lined up on shelves built into the wall. "No vodka," he said in French, but Dimitri understood well enough.

"Fine," he said with a sigh, "give me - "

He aborted his request when the unmistakable sparkle of diamonds caught his eye. He peeked over his shoulder and saw a grinning Dowager Empress towing Anya behind her through the lobby, causing quite a stir among the few guests still around at such a late hour. The mellow light from the chandelier caught her crown, throwing slivers of brilliance all over the room as she passed beneath it.

Dimitri had never had much use for God, but at that moment, he almost fell to his knees in gratitude.

He turned back quickly to avoid being seen, watching the pair through the rain-splashed window after they walked outside. An immeasurable relief flooded his body. He wasn't sure how the royal driver had found his way back to help them into the car, but Dimitri was glad he had.

Met with the droll expression of the bartender when he faced the bar again, Dimitri slid off the stool and made for the door. He still needed a drink, but not here.

His feet began to wander after he stepped out into the brisk night once more. It was an odd sensation, how his heart could feel at once light as air yet as heavy as his guilty conscience. He couldn't deny the sense of pride from knowing he'd helped Anya fulfill her destiny. Still, the toll it had taken on him to get her there had left wounds that would leave him scarred for the rest of his life.

That he was capable of such selflessness was a revelation in itself. Part of him wished he wasn't. The reality of having to go on somehow without her propelled him past the posh stores and closed eateries toward the seedier part of town to seek relief.

When he became aware of his surroundings again, he thought for a moment he had somehow walked his way back to the slums of St. Petersburg. Same kind of dilapidated stone row houses and trash floating in puddles, same half-dressed whores gyrating in open doorways for dates.

Finally, something around here he recognized.

Dimitri felt the tension ease in his shoulders, supposing at times his relaxation required a little poverty to feel complete. Considering how long and hard he'd fought to achieve just the opposite, the irony wasn't lost on him.

Where there were whorehouses and drifters, there were always plenty of pubs. Dimitri entered the first one he saw and slapped down a handful of coins courtesy of Vladimir on the wet bar top. "Vodka," he said with conviction and sat on a stool that leaned to the side, too depressed to move to a more stable seat.

The bartender here wore a stained apron and raised an eyebrow at Dimitri, who no doubt looked like a lost tourist in his expensive ensemble. He shook his head and grumbled something in French before bending to grab a small, clear bottle from a low shelf behind the bar. He placed it and a smudged glass before Dimitri prior to sliding the coins into his palm and moving on to the next miserable man waiting to drown his sorrows.

The place was dim and dirty and filled with acrid cigar smoke that stung Dimitri's eyes. He felt at home already. He didn't recognize the brand, but cheap vodka tasted like cheap vodka no matter where it had been made. He emptied the bottle into his glass, filling it way past his usual third almost to the rim. He downed the whole thing in three gulps.

The alcohol smoldered in his chest, but he could still see Anya's smile when he closed his eyes.

Definitely not drunk enough yet.

He tossed a few more coins on the bar for another little bottle and kept at it, trying to wipe out her delicate floral scent and the memory of how she snorted when she laughed too hard. How her face softened and full lips parted when she wanted a kiss but didn't know how to ask him. How she challenged him at every turn - to be more than he was, to be a better person than life had given him the tools to be.

Two hours later, Anya's face in his mind had barely blurred around the edges.

_Fuck._

When the grumpy bartender swiped his third vodka bottle away, Dimitri almost fell off the stool trying to grab it back.  _"Hey!"_

"Out, Russian," he said as he butchered Dimitri's mother tongue, pointing at the door. "Bar closed."

Dimitri stood, steadying himself with both hands flat on the counter. He managed to snatch the bottle back and drain the rest of the clear liquid before the bartender grabbed it again.

A moment later, he tripped on the threshold and stumbled onto the sidewalk, almost losing his grip on his hat.

_"You used me..."_

He jumped, Anya's words from earlier that evening so loud and distinct in his mind, he almost looked over his shoulder.

_"I was just part of your con..."_

Dimitri clamped his eyes closed and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, trying to make his mind go blank and failing. Surely Anya knew she meant far more to him than that.

_"You would've just let him rape me..."_

He hung his head, eyes wet out of nowhere. Anya was never going to forgive him. Besides, what kind of future could she have with him as the Grand Duchess of Russia? He couldn't give her anything she deserved. Only himself, and that wasn't much to begin with.

Dimitri meandered through the unfamiliar  _arrondissement_ , each step a little more off balance than the last. Determination straightened his spine when he saw the light on above a liquor store down the street. He still had a few coins left.

He earned another funny look from the cashier when he paid for a full-sized bottle of his alcohol of choice, a better brand this time around he hoped didn't taste like gun oil. He left the bottle in its paper sack and sipped as he walked, waiting for his vision to double. Once that happened, he knew the temporary peace of a hard, dreamless sleep would be right around the corner.

The ancient winding alleyways turned him around more than once, an easy feat in his compromised state, but he found his way back to the main road with little more mishap than scuffed shoes. The sun had begun to rise by the time he returned to the hotel, feet numb and entire body shivering.

He'd watched the Dowager's fancy car leave hours ago, but the sight of the empty spot at the curb made him unspeakably sad. He took a long draw from the vodka bottle to take the edge off his misery and went inside.

Head still down, he dragged himself through the lobby and long hallway to his room. He fished his key out of his coat pocket, fumbling to keep it securely in his grasp.

When he looked up to place it in the lock and found Vladimir standing in his way, his heart faltered in shock.

" _Christ_...what are you doing here?" He shooed him to the side, nearly slurring some of his words. He somehow fell into the door as it swung inside the room. Making his way to the bed, he sat on the edge nearest the window with his back to the entrance with a long sigh.

"How much did you drink?" He heard the door close as Vladimir entered the room behind him.

"Not enough." Dimitri stared out to the awakening street, certain no one outside of that room could be as brokenhearted as he.

"Oh, Dimitri," Vladimir said, a decade of fondness and regret and empathy in his voice. He walked to the foot of the bed and stood over Dimitri, who silently refused to look up.

A newspaper suddenly landed with a soft plop in his lap. The  _Paris Evening Post_.

The headline screamed at him, twisting the knife. ROYAL PARTY PLANNED - ROMANOV PRINCESS FOUND. A party Dimitri wouldn't be invited to.

He closed his eyes and tossed the paper onto the bed. "I don't need to see it."

"What happened last night after the ballet?" He felt the bed dip down as Vladimir settled in beside him.

"Paper says it all."

Vladimir placed a hesitant hand on Dimitri's shoulder, as if he were afraid to make contact and risk accelerating his young friend's self-destruction. "No, it does not."

Dimitri finally looked up at his confidante from the bottom of the hole he'd fallen into after being thrown out of the Dowager's private balcony. His blood had to be more alcohol than organic material by now; his usual ability to shuffle his true feelings out of view like the ball in a shell game had failed him altogether.

So he didn't address Vladimir's query at all, choosing instead to focus on the perfect cut of his new gray suit. He lacked the energy to ask how he'd gotten custom clothing made in such a short time, but he did say, "You look nice, Vlad."

Of course his long-time partner saw Dimitri's avoidance for what it was, and Vladimir's answering smile was the saddest thing Dimitri had ever seen. "What  _happened_?"

"What did Sophie tell you?"

"Only that the Dowager called her late last night in hysterics to tell her Anya had proved she was Anastasia. Sophie sent her driver to pick them up at the hotel and they have been at the Dowager's residence ever since."

Dimitri swallowed hard. "Did she say anything about what happened to the Dowager's driver?"

"No, why?"

Dimitri's shoulders sagged in relief. At least the Dowager didn't seem intent on having him arrested for the stunt he'd pulled. "No reason. I saw her as she was leaving the theater and gave her the jewelry box. That's why she agreed to see Anya." He shrugged and looked at the floor. "The rest is history, I guess."

"So it would seem." Vladimir underscored his statement with a long, unhappy exhalation and studied his clasped hands in his lap.

After a long lapse, Dimitri asked, "Have you seen her?"

Vladimir shook his head. "I tried to this morning before coming here, but Sophie said she would not see me."

Dimitri wasn't surprised; he knew she'd felt Vladimir's betrayal as keenly as his own. The room bloomed with an uneasy silence until Vladimir cleared his throat. "I am concerned for you, Dimitri. I know this...ordeal has been very difficult for you because you care so deeply for Anya -"

"I  _love_  her, Vlad," Dimitri said as he raised his gaze from the carpet, his trembling voice on the edge of breaking as his despair and regret rushed forth from his mouth in a torrent. "I have loved her for years, when she was just Anastasia, since I was a little boy - ever since the day I caught her stealing apples. I loved everything about the princess then. I love everything about Anya now. Them being the  _same person_ , it's - it's..." his sentence fractured in his throat and he couldn't breathe, the agony in his heart about to snap him in two. "I'm ruined. She has  _ruined_  me, Vlad. I will never love anyone like this ever again." They looked at each other and Dimitri saw his anguish reflected back at him. "I  _can't_."

Vladimir didn't speak, as if he knew no words existed that could soothe Dimitri in that moment. He let his large hand linger on Dimitri's shoulder, as was his way, and stared unseeing across the room. "So this is why you could never stay long in the company of a woman, no matter how much I urged you to do so," Vladimir said after another long stretch of quiet. "Your heart already belonged to another."

Dimitri shrugged. It was all he had left in him.

With another heavy sigh, Vladimir pushed up from the bed. "I would be the last person to tell you that you are not entitled to your sorrow," he said, bespectacled eyes flicking toward the vodka bottle still clutched in Dimitri's hands, "but my visit has a purpose. The Dowager wants to see you."

Dimitri's heart seized. "Did she say why?"

"I was not informed, only asked to retrieve you."

"When, then?" Dimitri asked, shooting to his feet. It took a second for him to lose his balance, a positive sign he wasn't as intoxicated as he'd thought. " _Now?_ "

"As soon as possible, I would imagine." Vlad walked to the door. "You should clean yourself up. I will be back with coffee."

After Vladimir's exit, Dimitri staggered to the bathroom to throw himself into the elegant claw foot tub for a cold shower. The first hard spray of icy water dissolved most of the alcohol's haze. He found an eggplant purple suit hanging in a garment bag in the closet with a crisp white shirt and a tie of forest green. After examining his reddened lip and finding it felt worse than it looked, he was dressed and ready by the time Vladimir returned.

He handed Dimitri a steaming cup of black coffee. "You look better."

"Thanks, I guess." Dimitri tossed back the contents of the tiny cup. After rinsing his mouth in the sink he followed his partner downstairs, where Sophie's car waited with its driver.

Though the ride to the royal residence didn't take long, it felt like an eternity in hell. Dimitri fidgeted in the back seat next to Vladimir, mind running through nightmare scenarios of him being thrown in the stocks or on the guillotine, of him taking the reward money and living with the corrosive guilt, of him refusing the money and dying not only destitute, but alone as alone could be.

The grandeur of the Dowager's home when the car pulled up at the gate compounded his feelings of inadequacy. It made Sophie's house look like a shack in the woods.

After they entered into the grand parlor, Vladimir announced Dimitri to the suited butler who escorted him up a wide staircase to the open upper floor. Dimitri followed with averted eyes, afraid to see the looks of censure from the royal ancestors looking down on him from massive paintings along the wall.

One hand behind his back, the butler ushered Dimitri into a large study and said in crisp, formal Russian, "Wait here. Her Highness will be with you shortly."

Dimitri nodded, and with a quick bow, the butler vanished into the hallway.

The room could have housed multiple families in breadth and height, the ceiling at least three times higher than his old room in the palace. Stained glass lamps on the desk and on the side table in the nearby sitting area had been turned off in favor of the sunlight streaming in from a wall of floor-length windows, their oxblood velvet curtains drawn back with gold cords. It was as substantial a study as he'd expect for a woman of the Dowager's stature. Its perfect dustless condition alone was imposing.

Dimitri waited with his stomach in his shoes for the Queen Mother to appear, shuffling from foot to foot like a schoolboy and trying not to gnaw off his own bottom lip.

"Good day."

He started when the Dowager breezed into the room from another entrance across the way, the train of her emerald velvet day gown trailing just slightly behind her on the immaculate mahogany floor. Her hair had been twisted into a flawless chignon without her crown today. The wide, high collar of the dress both adorned her shoulders and framed her face with delicate lace. "I believe you and I have business to discuss." Unlike the night before, she flashed him a dazzling smile.

It reminded him too much of Anya and he had to avoid her eyes, tucking his chin in a bow. "You sent for me, Your Grace?"

He caught the sound of a lock releasing and raised his head. The Dowager opened the lid of a large valise he hadn't noticed sitting on the desk and turned it toward him.

"Ten million  _rubles_ , as promised, with my gratitude." Her eyes twinkled. "And apologies for my stubbornness."

Stacks upon stacks of cold, hard cash, his for the taking. Dimitri couldn't lie - he was literally salivating. That was a life-changing amount of money. Legacy-making. Having worked himself to the bone most of his life and idealized his reward for so long, seeing it in person gave him pause despite his resolution to turn it down.

Then a vision came to mind of he and Anya in some tiny apartment, nothing more than a bed and perhaps a rickety chair or two in the place, sitting on the floor half-naked over a picnic dinner and laughing until they felt sick about anything at all.

Dimitri couldn't fathom a happier existence. And a case with a  _billion_   _rubles_  in it could never buy him such a life.

He gulped. "I accept your gratitude, Your Highness, but I-I don't want the money."

The Dowager's eyes widened with stunned suspicion. "Indeed? What  _do_  you want then?"

_Anya's smile every day for the rest of his life._

"Unfortunately, nothing you can give." He felt his edges fraying, his mind brimming with tortuous thoughts of the love that was lost to him. He needed to leave before he embarrassed himself.

He bowed low again and turned to the open doorway.

"Young man."

The Dowager's dainty footsteps sounded behind him as she approached and Dimitri knew he had to stop.  _Goddamn it._

"Were you telling the truth when you told me you used to be in the palace's employ?"

He frowned, confused by her new line of questioning. He looked at her over his shoulder. "I was, Your Grace."

She cocked her head, seeming to study his face for a long time. "Did you know a Mrs. Tikhonova?"

The question knocked the wind out of him and he blinked in shock. "Olesya Tikhonova?" He didn't know anyone else by that name and it had been a lifetime since he'd heard it spoken aloud, but he had to be sure the Dowager was asking what he thought she was.

"Yes," she said with a nod.

He had to take a deep breath to steady himself once he remembered how to speak. "She-she was my mother."

Marie paled, her manicured fingers drifting up to her mouth in astonishment at some kind of confirmation.

"Something about your face was so familiar but I was unsure...I saw you before, at her funeral. I knew she had been with child, but she was so private I had not known she had a son until that day." She appeared almost shamefaced. "I had never seen a child look so sad," she said softly. "I have never forgotten it."

Dimitri had had no idea that any of the royal family knew her name, let alone had deigned to attend a common servant's funeral unnoticed. He certainly didn't remember seeing any of them at the small, sad affair, but he had to admit he had been more than distracted by his grief at the time. At present, he couldn't have made a sound if someone had jabbed him with a cattle prod.

"She was a lovely woman." The Dowager smiled in a tight way that betrayed her discomfort before lifting her eyes heavenward. "May God rest her soul."

Just when Dimitri's thoughts took an unkind turn toward believing her response was the empty condolence typical of someone from her class, the Dowager continued with a wistful expression. "I was rather fond of the beautiful little sweets she would make. No one else could produce them as perfectly as she did." The usually haughty aristocrat looked away. "I wish I could remember what they were called," she murmured, almost as an afterthought.

Dimitri's heart almost broke open at the memory of his mother pulling a tray of those swirled meringue confections from the wood oven in the separate servants' kitchen, laughingly slapping at his hands to wait until they had cooled. He hadn't thought about that in years.

" _Zefir_ ," Dimitri choked out. "Your Majesty."

Marie looked up at him with gratitude in her eyes for his lack of judgment. " _Zefir_. Yes." She smiled again. "Thank you."

Dimitri nodded, still floundering is disbelief at the turn in conversation, and readied to make his escape. "If there's nothing else - "

"There is, actually. Where  _did_  you get that music box?"

He didn't answer.  _Couldn't_  answer. She already knew too much.

"You were also the boy, weren't you?" the Dowager said as she began to circle him and he turned his head to avoid her gaze this time. "You had to be the servant boy who got us out. You saved her life, and mine, then you restored her to me...yet you want no reward?"

Dimitri closed his eyes to shut her out, at least for a second. "Not anymore."

"Why the change of mind? As it is, I feel I owe you much more than money."

He paused and took another breath before raising his head, the genuine kindness he found shining from the older woman's eyes giving him the strength to tell his truth. "It was more a change of heart."

Marie's lips stretched into a knowing smile. "For my granddaughter."

The simple statement pierced Dimitri's very being. Even if he'd wanted to, how could he respond to that? Anya was the sun. She was air.

She was everything.

God, why wouldn't the woman let him leave?

"The Grand Duchess is unequalled in every way, Your Grace," he said, choosing his words with care. "I'll be forever grateful and honored to have known her."

The Dowager's smile sweetened as she continued to watch Dimitri thoughtfully. It made him want to leap right out of the nearest window. "You turned out to be quite the surprise. I think your mother would have been proud."

Out. Out now. "Your Highness, I must go." Dimitri couldn't handle another minute of their conversation. He bowed a final time and strode from the room as quickly as he could without being rude before the Dowager could stop him again.

_"Psst!"_

Dimitri halted outside the door to find Vladimir waiting for him at the end of the long open walkway. He had to chuckle when he got close enough to see Anya's dog tucked into Vladimir's elbow, little paws dangling over his beefy arm.

"So you're the keeper of the royal mutt now?" It looked as if it had been treated to a good brushing and a bath since the last time he saw it.

"Anya may not be speaking to me, but this little one followed me up the stairs and will not leave my side," Vladimir said, smiling down at the dog. "Who am I to refuse?"

Dimitri shook his head in amusement.

"What did the Dowager say?"

Sobering, Dimitri cast a glance toward the open study door before turning back. "Doesn't matter. I did what I told you I would. Everything's finished now." He rubbed at the back of his neck. He was never good at goodbyes. "I gotta get out of here," he said, his spirit getting heavier by the second. "If you're ever in St. Petersburg again, look me up." He tried not to think about the unlikelihood of his seeing his only real companion again.

Vladimir tutted. "Has there ever been a time I have been unable to find you?"

Dimitri thought of all the instances he'd tried to run away as a child. Vladimir would always track him down by the next day.

He snorted. "No, I guess not. So long, Vlad." He stuck out his hand for a handshake. Ignoring it, Vladimir bent briefly to put Pooka down and grabbed Dimitri into a strong hug instead.

"Oh, my boy," Vladimir said as he withdrew, shaking his head sadly. "You are making a mistake. Stay. Anya will come around."

"Trust me, this is the one thing I'm doing right." He felt a nudge at his ankle and looked down. To his surprise, even Pooka looked sad to see him go.

"So long, Mutt." He squatted on his heels for a moment to scratch him behind the ears and earned a couple of fond licks to his thumb. "I can't stay," he whispered to the whining pooch. "I don't belong here."

As if to prove his point, a commotion of feminine voices rang out downstairs from the open atrium. He stood to see what was happening and felt a fresh stab of pain. Anya was turning around and around in her court gown while Sophie and a seamstress exclaimed over the fit, her crown catching the light as her grandmother's had and nearly blinding him all the way upstairs.

"Vlad, is there an exit in the back somewhere?"

Vladimir had picked Pooka up again and watched Dimitri with mournful eyes. "I am afraid the only exit from here is down the main staircase."

Dimitri sighed. He'd been afraid of that. "Alright."

He moved to the top of the stairs, drawing strength from the thought of the half bottle of vodka in his hotel room. Enough to get good and drunk one last time before his bleak future began.

One last obstacle and he was home free.


	34. Imitation of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is near, my loves :)  
> J.F

* * *

 

_My Darling Anastasia,_

_Please forgive my absence this morning - I assure you only preparations for your official homecoming could have pulled me from your side today. Please rest as long as you'd like. Sophie will be in later this morning to keep you company. I'll see you this afternoon._

_I love you,_

_Grandmama_

Anya read her grandmother's note for the hundredth time, still running her thumb over the embossing on the stationary. She'd been sitting cross-legged for the past hour, staring at the neat handwriting that was both recognizable and foreign.  _My Darling Anastasia_. The message seemed addressed to someone else, an acquaintance from long ago whom Anya had only known in passing.

At present, she felt tiny and pointless perched upon the huge, high bed, adrift in a sea of luxury as alien as some exotic, faraway land. Anya sighed and looked up at the ceiling, finding nothing but flawless ornamental plaster work swirling around the perimeter of the room, unblemished even by cobwebs.

It was all too much - too much unfamiliarity and stringent perfection, too much loss. It took her shoving the jumbled memories of her parents and siblings to the back of her mind to manage crawling out of the covers to greet the day.

Anya drew her legs to her chest and rested her head on her knees. Waking alone with no sound in the room but the birdsong floating in through the open balcony doors, she'd found herself seized by a strange panic that necessitated sucking down deep breaths until she could stop shaking.

She liked to think she had always been entirely self-sustaining, but she supposed that wasn't true. Anya had depended upon the kindness of strangers for food and shelter in the days when she roamed the streets of St. Petersburg, and God knew she didn't go a single winter's day in the orphanage without sharing a sleeping space for warmth. Most recently, it wouldn't be long after waking before she'd see Vladimir's smiling face. Or Dimitri's, usually still scowling at being disturbed since she'd always wake before he did.

Her stomach churned at the thought. Anya  _hated_  that she missed him. Dimitri didn't even deserve to be an afterthought, but there she was, recalling their debates while lying in the grass in the clearing in Latvia and his tickling her sides until she'd agree with him.

Anya wrapped both arms around her head to hide from her thoughts. God...how pathetic. She couldn't go a day without thinking of the man who'd utterly betrayed her.

She gritted her teeth and focused on her grandmother, Anya's love for her glowing like embers within her heart. Her grief and hurt may have threatened to snuff it out, but it endured, just enough light to remind her she wouldn't always feel as if she were suffocating in her personal darkness.

Still, she wished  _someone_  had been there when she woke up. She'd never felt so alone in her life.

Another half hour of staring out of the window had passed before nature made her leave the bed and cross the great distance to the bathroom. She handled her most pressing matters first then turned to the mirrored sink. Someone had been in the room while she slept and had set out everything Anya could need: toothbrush, a metal tube of fancy mint toothpaste, silver hairbrush and comb, face towel, hand towel, a new bar of soap even though the old one was hardly used. Everything was placed so neatly on the marble counter it looked as if someone had measured how far each item was from the edge. It was absurd.

Though Anya felt a little relief in finding at least the toothbrush wasn't encrusted with jewels, she could feel her nameless anxiety growing in strength and breadth like a creeping vine that could eventually choke her to death.

Mid-brush, she heard a polite knock on the door. Probably Sophie at last.

Anya spit in the sink before padding over to the door.

"Oh!" Sophie's big grin faltered as she took in Anya's disheveled state. "I am sorry, I can come back - "

"What for?" Anya said around her toothbrush, smiling and stepping aside. "It's fine - come in."

Sophie's smile met her eyes as she entered, three maids in matching monochromatic uniforms filing in behind her. Two of them looked to be about Anya's age, if not a little younger. One began attacking imaginary dust along the baseboards with her feather duster, while the other strode to the bed and began making it up with a practiced flair. The oldest of the group bobbed a quick curtsy to Anya and took the large garment bag she held draped across both arms to the closet. All three remained silent as they tended to their tasks, their eyes glued to the floor.

Anya didn't know why it rubbed her the wrong way - they were doing what they had been trained to do. Expecting a servant to be personable was ridiculous, given her title, but it bothered her. More than it probably should have.

Sophie distracted her with an air kiss to both cheeks, likely to avoid the toothpaste smears around Anya's mouth. She grabbed Anya's free hand and held it tightly. "How are you, dear? Did you sleep well?" Sophie certainly looked as if she had. With her soft fragrance of vanilla and her bare, pale shoulders revealed by her pink day gown - covered in ruffles, of course - she looked and smelled like a an elegant party cake.

Anya shrugged and kept the toothbrush moving, not able to answer as honestly as she wanted to in front of her still-silent guests.

"Ah, but you will tonight - that is for certain. It will be such a party! There is so much to do, but I brought you a little something I think will help you relax." With a wink, Sophie reached deep into the large handbag dangling from her inner elbow and pulled out a wriggling ball of fur.

Anya gasped so hard she almost choked.  _"Pooka!"_  Sophie placed him into her waiting arms and he licked her face like he hadn't seen her in years. "Oh, Pooka I've missed you so much!" She rubbed her nose against his warm little head, feeling like she was home for the first time. Finally, something she recognized, that was hers and hers alone. "Thank you, Sophie." She glanced up at her with a giggle. "He smells like flowers."

Sophie rolled her eyes. "A large improvement, to be sure." She suddenly clapped her hands, making all three of the maids jump in their various working stations around the room. "Now, these three will help you with anything you need this morning until I return - "

"Wait - where are you going?" Sophie planned to leave her alone with them? Anya didn't know how to...her panic began to rise again. Pooka whimpered and sniffed at her ear. Anya held him tighter against her chest, a furry security blanket.

"I have to get to the seamstress and make sure your court gown completion is on schedule. Rush orders are notorious for being late. Not to mention the dinner and desserts and the decorations..." Sophie trailed off, then touched her finger to Anya's chin with another wink once she'd reigned in her wayward thoughts. "Don't worry, little one. I'll return to fetch you as soon as I can."

Pooka licked her earlobe and Anya bounced him with one arm like a baby, trying to calm down. "Fine...I'll be here, I guess - "

"Splendid! Enjoy your morning, dear - I'll be back soon!"

The door slammed shut before Anya could open her mouth again.

As if the noise were some kind of cue, the maids hurried to where Anya stood wide-eyed, lining up before her with downcast eyes as if to be inspected. The room fell so quiet, she could hear them breathing.

Toothbrush still in hand, Anya wiped her mouth on her nightgown sleeve and cleared her throat, thanking the heavens for Pooka's presence to temper the unbearable awkwardness. "Um, you can sit down. No need to be so...formal."

"Yes, Your Highness," they said in Russian with a curtsy, speaking and moving in unison.

After a long moment passed and no one sat, Anya pressed her lips together in frustration. The difference between these maids and the ones Sophie had hired to help her prepare for the ballet was like night and day. Those girls were giggling and bubbly; these were downright stoic. They wouldn't look at Anya, let alone smile and engage in conversation. They had probably enjoyed better childhoods than Anya had had overall, and she hated that their subservient demeanor made her feel undeservingly privileged, just because of who her parents had been.

"Diedre, stop staring." Anya caught the angry whisper of one of the maids under her breath and looked in time to catch the younger maid at the end - Diedre, presumably - gaping at her in astonishment. Tensing, the girl's face blazed red and she looked back at the floor like her job depended on it.

Anya smiled. Finally, signs of life. "It's alright. This whole situation is kind of crazy, I know." She walked over to the chaise and sat down, lowering Pooka to the floor. Now they'd have to follow her or risk being rude at best, insubordinate at worst. "You can ask me anything you want. I'm just a person...not that different from the three of you."

The older maid audibly scoffed at that as they followed, going pale when she realized Anya had heard. Anya didn't blame her, though; she felt stupid the moment she'd said it. She  _was_  different, no matter how much she didn't care to be.

She nodded at the surly maid. "What's your name?"

"Emily, Your Highness," she said and squared her shoulders, gray eyes meeting Anya's with a steely gleam. "That is Ines," she continued, gesturing at the curly-haired girl who had made the bed, "and Diedre." She threw a glare over her shoulder at the one who'd been caught staring.

Anya returned her skepticism with a benign smile. "Hello, Emily. Nice to meet you. You can call me Anya."

Emily curtsied again but did not reply.

Though Anya's smile dimmed, she refused to give up trying to find a foothold in this new world she'd been thrown into. She wouldn't keep her sanity long if she couldn't be herself, if nowhere else than behind closed doors. "Are the three of you from Paris, or somewhere else?"

"All of us are Parisian-born,  _Your Grace_." Emily answered for them all, her lips tight. The girl's emphasis on the title told Anya she had no intention of addressing her as anything else.

Anya scanned the faces of the other two maids while Pooka sniffed around at their feet. When Diedre cracked a tiny smile at him, Anya pounced on the opening. "And Diedre, was it? How long have you worked here?"

Diedre blinked. "Ah, just a year or so, Your Grace."

Anya's smile was relentless. "And how do you like it?"

"I..." Diedre cast a concerned glance toward Emily before looking back at Anya. "It is more than a girl like me could hope for, Your Highness," she said softly, smoothing a loose strand of hair back into her low bun.

Anya frowned. "What do you mean?" At this point, Anya could see the daggers Emily's eyes were throwing at poor Diedre, who had started to tremble. "Hey, it's okay - you won't get into trouble if you answer. Not by me." Anya let her smile stretch slow and Dimitri-like across her face and Diedre instantly calmed.

Anya didn't have long to muse on her own experiences with such a smile, since Diedre said, "I-I had no parents. A friend of mine helped me get this job." She swallowed.

"You grew up in an orphanage?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

Anya's grin broadened. "So did I."

Diedre finally looked up, a genuine smile on her round, rosy face.

Emily clapped her hands like Sophie had earlier, startling everyone. "Your Highness, I am sorry to interrupt, but we are short on time and must get you ready for breakfast." Her bitter tone did not suggest regret. She turned to her subordinates. "Come, ladies."

The three of them fell out of line into their individual tasks as if it were some kind of choreographed dance, leaving a deflated Anya to sag back against the chaise. Pooka jumped up from the floor to curl up at her hip. Anya stared at her bare feet, feeling like she could burst into tears. None of this felt right. None of it felt like  _her_.

Her personal maid crew left her alone only for the half hour she managed to snatch for herself in the bath tub, after flat out refusing when Emily suggested she help her wash. Once she finished, Anya let Emily guide her to the center of the room, her firm hands poised to keep Anya's outstretched arms aloft. She droned on and on in her childish voice about all the obligations Anya would have to meet before the day ended. Anya remained quiet as the other two maids, blushing as they literally dressed her from head to toe, Diedre's hand attending to her hair trembling so badly she banged the top of Anya's head with the heavy silver hairbrush more than once, bringing tears to her eyes.

As she stood in the center of the little circle they'd formed around her, an insistent resentment tightened Anya's jaw. She loved her grandmother and Marie was  _all_  she needed. Anya didn't want any of this - this constant bowing and scraping, her inability to do anything on her own without fear of causing an embarrassing scene for breaking protocol.

Staying here and living this life day after day...the idea was as uncomfortable as the new shoes she stood in, a full size too small. Maybe they were the size everyone expected her to be. And maybe, had her feet not spent most of her childhood bare and unrestricted, they would have fit. But they didn't. Not the shoes, the corset, the tight hairstyle that had evoked a headache - none of it.

Life in The People's Orphanage had been hell, true, but the beatings had made Anya strong. The neglect had made her fiercely independent. The undernourishment had made her resilient and compassionate to others in need. So much lack had left her ever resourceful, always able to make something out of nothing at all.

All the values Anya held dear, the ones that had kept her alive, she'd learned there. Not in a palace.

Sophie gasped dramatically upon her return as she crossed the room to circle Anya, who stood stiffly with arms akimbo and not a single strand of hair out of place.

Anya tried to smile. "Hi."

"You look magnificent!  _Excellent, ch_ _é_ _ries."_

The maids curtsied in unison and headed toward the door.

"We're following them out," Sophie said to Anya, slipping her plump arm into the crook of Anya's elbow. "First breakfast, then I'll show you to your room before your meeting with some of the high-profile guests who've already arrived for the party."

Anya gave her a mute nod, overwhelmed again. Diedre was the last maid to leave, and to Anya's surprise she spun to face her just as Anya reached the door. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Grand Duchess Anya," she said on a whisper, slipping something from the pocket of her apron into Anya's hand while Sophie's head was turned. She grinned and hurried away without waiting for a response. Anya stared after her in shock and glanced down at her opened palm.

Two small caramels wrapped in waxed paper. She smiled. There was hope for her yet.

With no pockets in her slinky drop-waist dress in which to secret them away, Anya's cheeks bulged after quickly unwrapping them and stuffing both into her mouth.

Sophie didn't notice. She prattled on with barely contained excitement as she propelled Anya through a labyrinth of hallways to the dining hall reserved for the royal family and their guests. Anya frowned as Sophie directed her to the end of the longest table Anya had ever seen.

She sat down and tucked her crumpled bits of waxed paper under the edge of her plate. "Is...anyone joining us?" Aside from the multitude of empty chairs feeling excessive, she missed her grandmother so much her chest hurt.

"No...it will just be us girls for breakfast," Sophie said as she sat next to her. "Marie will join you for tea later while I attend to some last minute details for your ball. Ah - speaking of which!"

Anya's heart dropped into her lap. "What about the ball?" The idea of a room full of people staring at her made her itch.

"Do you know how to dance with a partner - to waltz? With your...history, I hate to ask, but it's important for tonight." Sophie smiled at the male waiter who'd arrived with hot chocolate and fresh baguettes and butter, ghosting around them with hardly a sound.

Oh, Anya knew how to waltz. The warmth of Dimitri's hands on her body and his eyes staring into hers made sure she'd never forget the lesson.

She swallowed the hard, cold lump in her throat. "I do. I learned...recently."

"Ah, wonderful." Sophie poured chocolate that smelled surprisingly of spices into each of their porcelain cups without spilling a drop. Anya hung her head, her face tight. The warm scent just reminded her of Dimitri in his tux, wearing a nervous smile. "This evening should be easy then," Sophie continued, rocking in her seat with delight as she sipped at her chocolate with little hums of pleasure. "There are so many dignitaries coming last minute to see you! All the men will want a dance or two." She winked, then noticed Anya staring into her cup and cleared her throat. "Will your, ah, handsome 'friend' be in attendance? I know he caused a dreadful scene at the ballet, but I thought - "

"No." Anya raised her eyes with clenched teeth. No way she was talking about him. Or  _thinking_  about him. "The person of whom you speak is not coming, and please don't ever mention his name."

Sophie sobered and lowered her cup to its saucer with a careful  _clink_. "Well, I - " she blinked long enough to erase the hurt look that had crossed her face. "Consider it done, dear."

Anya sighed. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Sophie's feelings; she'd been so kind and seemed genuinely delighted to plan a ball in Anya's honor. Dimitri had even robbed her of common courtesy.

Forcing a smile and picking up her cup with both hands with sudden gusto, Anya said, "So tell me again - who all is coming to the ball?"

Sophie lit up anew as she spoke of the young, handsome grandsons and nephews of other royal families expected to attend the festivities, but it wasn't long until Anya's mind began to wander. What  _would_  she do if Dimitri showed up tonight? Besides have security escort him out. She almost wanted him to, just so she could have the satisfaction of spitting in his face.

Breakfast finished, Sophie dragged Anya into the kitchen to meet the entire staff. Anya's three maids were there along with several others, standing in the long line of butlers and cooks and valets that stretched all the way through the elongated room. Anya offered a grateful smile to Deidre as she passed and was happy to see it returned.

Sophie also insisted on showing her around the entire royal residence and grounds. Anya found everything beautiful in a detached way, as if she were a visitor herself admiring a local landmark. She despised that she somehow saw Dimitri in every flowering fruit tree and sculpted shrub they encountered. So stupid. She never wanted to see his face again after what he did to her. It didn't make sense that her mind couldn't seem to let him go.

The rest of the morning whizzed by in a blur of pleasantries with foreign nobility who couldn't wait until the ball to make Anya's acquaintance. Everyone was perfectly powdered and rouged and slick with pomade as they lunched in the formal dining room, and each of them studied Anya like she was some kind of zoo exhibit as they ate. The whole ordeal was as painful as the straps of her shoes digging into the tops of her feet. All she could think of was how happy and free she had felt lying barefoot in the grass next to Dimitri with sunshine pouring over them, blissfully ignorant to his nefarious plans to stab her in the back.

Already exhausted, Anya powered through the endless curtsies and fake smiles until Sophie finally showed her to her own room - her grandmother's quarters in miniature, which only meant it was the size of a room in an everyday mansion instead of a royal palace. Anya paid no attention to the abundant paintings and precious artifacts on display on the walls and shelves; she only had eyes for the bed.

Sophie's laughter tinkled as she watched Anya launch herself face-first across the soft mattress. "Don't get too comfortable; you have tea with your grandmother in twenty minutes. There's another dress for you to change into in the closet. I'll send the maids back here to - "

"No! Sophie  _please_...I promise I can dress myself."

Leaning on the door frame, Sophie crossed her arms and looked honestly perturbed for the first time. "I understand, but there are certain standards we have to keep here that are  _centuries old_  - "

"I promise I won't say another word about it after this. Please." Anya rose up onto her knees and clasped her hands before her, poking out her bottom lip.

"Fine," Sophie said with an eye roll that warred with her emerging smirk. "Meet the Dowager in the dining room and don't you dare be late. I'd walk you there myself but there's an issue with the roses I've ordered..."

Anya had stopped listening, already scrambling off the bed to the closet. She shed her current ensemble and threw on the cobalt velvet confection hanging inside, making quick work of its silk sash around her waist. It coordinated with her current shoes, and since the maids apparently didn't leave any other accessories, she lamented that there was no chance of changing into a more comfortable pair.

Sophie promised to retrieve Anya for her gown fitting in an hour, so Anya hurried to find her way back to the dining room. She discovered the Dowager seated at the head of the table where Anya had been a couple of hours before.

She glanced up with a brilliant smile and Anya felt the sun shining in her heart again.

"Grandmama." Ignoring her pinched feet, Anya dashed across the room into her grandmother's outstretched arms.

"Hello, my love." Marie held on tightly as Anya buried her face in her neck, inhaling the soft peppermint scent forever etched into her memory. She took a long time to draw back and the Dowager didn't rush her.

Feeling much calmer, Anya sat in the nearest chair and scooted as close as she could get. Marie held Anya's hand on the table. "How are you?" Her eyes searched Anya's face.

Anya tamped down the distress she'd been wrestling with all day and grinned. "I'm much better now."

"Good." Marie smiled back, handing Anya a bowl of lemons and a pair of tiny silver tongs. "You look lovely; that color suits you. Sophie chose very well."

The Dowager Empress looked stunning in her emerald day gown with its wide lace collar, but Anya didn't comment like she'd intended. Her mind had latched onto the simple fact that Sophie had picked out her clothes. It made sense, but...

Would it always be like this? Not having any say in something as mundane as an outfit for tea with her own grandmother?

Anya fell silent and plunked a few lemon slices into her tea cup.

"Did you hear me, darling?" A frown formed between the Dowager's immaculate brows. She studied Anya while pouring steaming water into her granddaughter's cup.

"I'm sorry - I didn't. What did you say?"

Marie placed the silver teapot on the table with more care than was due. "I asked if you liked your bedroom."

"Oh! Oh yes, it's...perfect. Everything is, thank you." Anya smiled again, noticing the motion had started to feel robotic. She reached for a crustless cucumber sandwich on the tiered tray on the table between them and nibbled on the end.

She had to stop this. She should be happy. This was everything -  _more_  than everything - she had ever wanted.

"You would tell me if something were wrong, wouldn't you?" The Dowager folded her hands beneath her chin, her eyes unblinking. Unsettling.

Anya gulped. Marie was more perceptive than she would have thought, but what could Anya tell her? She missed the freedom of being poor? That she was still in love with a man who'd sold her like a prized cow?

"Of course, Grandmama." She held her earnest expression in place, mimicking what she'd seen on Dimitri's face time and again. At least he'd taught her how to make a lie sound like the God-honest truth.

Marie cocked her head. "Are you quite sure? I don't ever want you to feel as if you need to hide anything from me."

"I'm sure, I promise." Anya pulled her cheeks back in another smile and took of sip of her hot lemon water. Anything she said would come out ungrateful and petty, and Anya was neither.

"Oh, Anastasia," Marie said on a sigh.

Anya actually bristled. She couldn't help it. She thought hearing her given name on a regular basis would break it in, make it feel normal and comfortable, but it hadn't. Now she feared it never would. That name and the life attached to it...it may have been her birthright, but the weight of it grew every time Anya heard it, and she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to properly uphold it.

But it didn't matter. Anya couldn't afford to disappoint the one person in the world who loved at least a part of her. Even if it was a part Anya barely remembered.

She cleared her throat to break the heavy silence. "I'm looking forward to the ball tonight, Grandmama. Sophie said it's going to be quite the affair." She stuffed half a watercress sandwich into her mouth so she didn't have to force another smile. It tasted like grass and she suppressed a grimace.

The Dowager's smile was genuine, if not suspicious. "Are you? I was concerned it would be overwhelming for you, but -"

"Not at all! I'm excited about it. Besides, Sophie said I'm getting my court gown today."

Marie actually giggled. "She is probably more excited about it than you are, I'm willing to bet."

They both turned at a soft knock on the wood-paneled door across the room. A butler poked his head inside. "Your Majesty, it's ready."

Marie nodded, dabbing at her mouth with her cloth napkin before standing. "I'm afraid I have to take my leave for now, darling. More business to attend to."

Anya thought she'd have a little more time with her. She swallowed her disappointment and stood as well, falling into her grandmother's embrace again. Marie pulled back after leaving two soft kisses on each of Anya's cheeks, gently holding her chin with the fingertips of both hands and looking deep into her eyes. "I'll see you at the ball."

Anya returned to her seat after Marie's exit and mechanically stuffed whole finger sandwiches and scones into her mouth.

Approaching from behind a little later, Sophie laughed when she caught Anya licking a bit of clotted cream off her knuckles. "How do you expect to fit into your gown, eating like that?" Changed for the night's event, she placed her hands on her hips, the movement gathering the lush maroon velvet of her own ball gown at her fingertips. Her up-swept hair had been topped with a simple but stately gold tiara.

Anya jumped, shamefaced. She'd eaten through an entire tier, having been too self-conscious to eat much at lunch with all the gawking going on. "Sorry," she mumbled around a wad of sweet pastry, but Sophie was already shooing her toward the door to head to the seamstress' quarters.

Anya's nerves eased somewhat under the hands of the chatty seamstress, her comfy room packed so with dress forms and bolts of fabric there was hardly space to turn around. Careful of Anya's hair, Sophie helped her drop the heavy gown over Anya's head inside-out so the seamstress could pin it in place on her body. Anya stood like a statue on a small platform as the woman hand sewed the needed changes, not keen on getting poked with the needle. Sophie giggled at the seamstress' incessant gossip from her post against the wall all the while. Anya had no idea who they were talking about, but their shared laughter eased the knot of tension in her stomach.

Sophie assisted again when the seamstress finished, this time helping Anya slide into a pair of formal shoes - ones no more comfortable than their predecessors - before helping the seamstress reverse the gown and hold it open the from the bottom so Anya could put it on correctly. Heart pounding, Anya gingerly ducked under their hands with her arms up and let them settle the many yards of fabric over her head. The seamstress checked the fit with eagle eyes, adjusting with a tug on the bodice here and there.

Sophie answered the knock on the door and brought in a large box, placing it on the small sofa against the wall.

Anya eyed the royal seal engraved on the top. "What's that?" Reverence made her whisper.

Sophie grinned. "From the Dowager. She is so sorry she wasn't able to give it to you herself." Sophie eased the lid open and Anya couldn't stop her sudden intake of breath. Inside the box was a tall crown reminiscent of a clam's shell, inlaid with more diamonds than Anya could had ever imagined. Nestled beneath it against the dark velvet interior was a folded satin sash of ocean blue.

"It belonged to your mother," Sophie said gently, eyes glistening with pride and sadness. The seamstress stepped aside so Anya could bend at the waist, and Sophie placed the crown carefully atop Anya's head before draping the royal sash over her shoulder.

Anya straightened and her reflection in the full length mirror near the sewing table left her breathless. The gown left the curves of her shoulders exposed, but her bare arms were free courtesy of elegant slashed sleeves that reached toward the floor. A pattern of crystal-encrusted filigrees on either side of the tight bodice repeated down a split skirt rich with gold metallic threads that gleamed, revealing a blush pink underskirt of shimmering silk. She looked...

She looked like a princess. Through and through. Anya held her head high, shoulders pressed back the way Dimitri and Vladimir had taught her. Turning her head this way and that, she tried to see herself and the crown from as many angles as possible. That girl, the one looking back at her with determination in her eyes - she deserved to be here.

Sophie was beside herself. "I cannot tell you how incredible you look!" She bounced on her toes in her high heels. "Come, let's go out into the atrium in the good light."

When seamstress squealed in delighted agreement and followed them out, Anya laughed in spite of herself. In the grand hall, with all the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows, Anya sparkled like a precious jewel and needed no encouragement to twirl again and again.

As high as her spirits soared, gravity returned one hundred fold the second she spotted Dimitri walking down the grand staircase.

Everything Anya had ever felt for him - the rage, the hurt, the gratefulness, the soul-rending love - landed on her shoulders at once, making her hands and knees shake with the brunt force of it all. She glanced up at the top of the stairs, noting he had to be coming from the main study. Anya had learned throughout the course of the day that only her grandmother used that room.

So  _he_  was the reason afternoon tea ended early. He and his goddamned reward.

She watched him descend one step at a time in what seemed like slow motion, his eyes never leaving the ground before him. He'd almost reached the bottom when Anya realized in alarm he had no intention of looking up.

So he thought he'd escape with his millions scot-free? Not a fucking chance.

Her pulse raced as she abandoned Sophie and the seamstress and moved in front of the landing to block his way, eyes blazing her fury. She would  _make_  him see her.

"Hello, Dimitri." Hands balled into fists, she practically barked his name. Everything in Anya wanted to make a scene. Though those days were behind her now, he would see no more softness or warmth in her, so help her God. He deserved only stone.

He stopped and raised his head. "Hello." When he met her eyes, all she saw was a cool distance. Anya supposed money did change people after all.

There was so much she wanted to say. So many names she wanted to call him, so many questions she wanted to demand answered. They all crowded her mouth as he stared blankly at her, looking for all the world as if he were waiting in line for a bus.

"You're looking well, Dimitri," Anya said in an effort to bait him into an argument, not bothering to hide her vicious sneer. "Off to spend your riches, I presume?"

He chuckled darkly. Anya didn't care that it sounded odd; she still wanted to sock him in the throat. "My business is complete," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture meant to put an end to her interrogation.

As if it ever could.

Before she could open her mouth with a lethal retort, the major domo peered around the corner with a disapproving scowl, drawing both their stares. "Eh, young man...you will  _bow_  and address the princess as 'Your Highness'."

Anya stayed the little old man with gesture of her hand, a hot flush burning her neck. She wanted to hate Dimitri and was well on her way to quelling the love she still had for him, but they were beyond that level of formality. He knew too much about her. They had been through...too much together. "No, that's not nece -"

"Please." Dimitri interrupted her with an upheld hand before bowing low. Anya watched him and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. " _Your Highness._ " He rose, his expression a picture of graciousness that replaced Anya's embarrassment with bitterness. "I'm glad you found what you were looking for."

Part of her believed him. He had been just as invested in this venture as she, just for an entirely different - and revolting - reason. Anya raised her chin to ensure she looked down at him through her narrowed eyes. "I'm glad you did, too."

Dimitri's raised brows made him look nonchalant. Anya didn't doubt it. He had his money now, probably wired into a bank account since she didn't find him scuttling away with a bulging sack slung over his back. "Well, then...goodbye." He bowed again briefly, adding as an afterthought as his dark eyes scanned her face once more, "Your Highness."

He was down the last few steps and out of sight before Anya could blink again, leaving her to speak the last word she'd ever say to him to the space he'd vacated: "Goodbye."

She stared after him for a long time, feeling unanchored and lost. Her gravity was gone now.

"Your Grace...is there anything you require?" Back so hunched with age he stood half her height, the major domo smiled up at her.

Anya shook herself. "Ah...no, thank you. I - " She stopped, so drained all of a sudden she could hardly find the strength to speak. "Could you tell Sophie I'm going to my room? I need to lie down for a while."

"Of course." He bowed and stepped aside.

Anya gathered her skirts and forced herself to walk at a dignified pace to her room; she needed to be alone so badly she wanted to run.

A napping Pooka didn't stir at her entrance on his little floor pillow by the bathroom. Anya fell onto her back on the bed, stiff as a board, her heavy crown and corset making a comfortable position - or normal breathing - impossible. God, she wished she could sleep and forget everything, just for a little while. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Dimitri smiling at her. Could feel his strong arms around her, making her brave. His soft lips on hers, lighting her on fire.

Anya threw an arm over her eyes to block out the light of the chandelier.

She'd never see him again.

Why was it, now that he was truly gone, her memories of what she loved about him had grown stronger than that of his treachery?

Anya started at a knock, then rolled her eyes. It seemed her life had become a laborious dance of answering the polite rapping on closed doors. Probably a handmaid come to rouse her early for the ball. She detested the realization that she would rather fight with Dimitri the rest of her life than be put on display like a prized stallion tonight.

She looked back at the ceiling, not bothering to get up. She needed another few minutes to be her own person. "Come in."

The door opened, closing again with a quiet click. "You look even more beautiful than I had imagined, Your Grace."

Anya sat up so quickly her head swam. Vladimir stood at the room's entrance in a smart navy blue military jacket and crisp cream trousers, but his bowed head and slumped shoulders hinted that he was less proud than his attire suggested.

"Please," he said with raised hands as he moved a few steps closer, sensing Anya about to send him packing. "I know you do not want to see me. You do not have to speak. Just listen."

Flushed with heat, Anya's anger at his involvement in Dimitri's scheme made her skin crawl. Vladimir had a lot of gall coming to her room.

Hands behind his back, he got right to the point. "I will be brief. What I did to you was wrong. Abhorrent. I know this. We -  _I_  - violated your trust in order to save myself. I have never been a perfect man. It is not an excuse, but..." he paused, eyes boring into Anya's from across the room. "I want you to know that I am truly sorry for how I hurt you. I love you as much as I had my own daughter...you have made me desire to be better than what I have always been, and I will spend the rest of my life in your debt."

He'd had a daughter? What happened to -

Anya clenched her jaw, refusing to be touched by his admission or apology. It didn't matter. None of it did anymore. "Is that all?"

He coughed in such a way that Anya suspected he'd hidden his hands to hide their wringing. "No. I saw Dimitri before he left and -"

"I saw him, too." Anya's hot stare could have melted iron. "And he had an opportunity to speak for himself. But he didn't." Her lip curled. "So good riddance."

Vladimir acknowledged her with a slow nod. "I see." He reached into his jacket and walked to the bed. "I will leave you, then." Bowing, he left his offering near Anya's hand on the embroidered coverlet. "Long live the Romanovs."

Anya stared at the long-stemmed rose long after Vladimir had closed the door behind him, eyes welling with tears. The unexpected happiness she had found with he and Dimitri, when they had nothing but the clothes on their backs and each other to rely on, was lost to her forever. She learned a long time ago nothing in life was free; finding the family she had been born to had cost her the one she had made along the way.

Sophie found her sitting on the edge of the bed a while later, still feeling like her chest had been caved in.

"Darling," Sophie sang as she danced into the room. "It's time!" She cast a curious eye at the rose but said nothing, all smiles as she grabbed both of Anya's hands and pulled her to a stand. Anya winced as her shoes cut anew into her swollen feet.

"Wait until you see the turnout! I think every royal in the world has come out to see you!"

Anya tried to smile but couldn't quite accomplish it.

Sophie was undeterred. She'd arrived with a smaller box embossed with the royal seal - this time containing diamonds in the form of a choker and matching earrings. Numb, Anya barely glanced at them.

No sooner had she donned the jewels than Sophie swept her down the hall toward the grand ballroom. "I know you're tired, but you'll perk up once you see what I mean!" She wrapped an arm around Anya's waist and squeezed.

Anya doubted it. The knot in her gut that had plagued her most of the day was back and worse than ever after her interlude with Dimitri and Vladimir's visit, now wrenching her lungs of air and making it hard to breathe.

Sophie delivered Anya to the backstage area before running off again to deal with some appetizer disaster. Anya could hear the soft classical music of the band, muffled by a heavy theater curtain.

Curiosity got the best of her and Anya tiptoed forward, her heels clicking against the polished parquet floor. She slipped a hand into a gap between the curtains and peeked out into the ballroom. It looked like something out of a fairy tale. Twinkling lights were strung like banners from the very top of the high ceiling to the ground floor, as well as across every arched entrance to the dance floor. Couples were out laughing and dancing, twirling in blurs of color and sparkle. Hundreds of people chatting and sipping expensive champagne crowded the balconies, stretching so far along either side of the dance floor that those at the ends looked like writhing groups of ants - all of them there to witness Anya's spectacle.

Her moment of awe ended when she caught sight of the single opulent high-backed chair placed in the center of the raised dais just beyond the curtain. Intricately carved, covered in gold leaf, cushions the color of the royal blood in her veins. Empty only because she was hiding in the shadows.

Anya's gut seized to the point of painful nausea. Her gaze flickered over the dance floor, searching in vain for the one person who made her feel like she belonged to herself, someone she knew she'd never lay eyes on again.

"He's not there, you know."

"Oh, I know he's not, he - " Anya broke off, realizing too late she'd responded to her grandmother's soft statement in a moment of vulnerability. Had she read her mind?

Her warmth and peppermint aroma enveloped Anya from behind as Marie placed her hands on Anya's shoulders and squeezed gently, reassuringly.

Blushing at being caught, Anya turned into Marie's embrace and blinked like a naughty child trying to charm her way out of punishment. "Who's not there, Grandmama?"

Marie smirked. "A remarkable young man...who found a music box." She slipped past Anya to peer out of the curtain.

"Remarkably  _selfish_ , I'd say." Frowning, Anya joined her, seeing nothing but Dimitri's face as he said his last goodbye. "He's probably too busy spending his reward money as fast as he can."

Marie looked resplendent in her own court gown, a simpler but no less sumptuous version of Anya's in royal blue velvet with plum-colored trim. Her crown sparkled in the muted light of the wall sconces behind them as she turned to Anya with a tiny smile, one imbued with a sadness Anya didn't understand. "Hm," was Marie's reply.

Anya raised a curious eyebrow as the Dowager watched the couples on the dance floor swaying in time to the music. "Look at them dance...you were born into this world of glittering jewels and fine titles, but...I wonder if this is what you really want." Her hand found Anya's shoulder again, her expression warm and knowing.

Knowing what?

Anya just felt confused, as well as guilty for not making more of an effort to settle into her new life with some semblance of grace and gratitude. "Of course! Of  _course_  it is. I found what I was looking for. I found out who I am. I found  _you._  That's all I need."

Marie took Anya's hand, letting the curtain close at last. "My Anastasia," she whispered, a hitch in her voice. She traced Anya's face as she had the night they reunited and said, "Yes, you did find me. And you will  _always_  have me. But is it enough?"

As she folded Anya into her soft arms and held her there, Anya felt consumed with dread. Did she break a rule sometime during the day? Did her grandmother have to put her out on the street now and was trying to gently break the news? "I don't know what you - "

"My darling," Marie said, her voice breaking in earnest as she pulled away. Anya watched tears gather in her eyes, their shimmering rivaling the diamonds in her crown. "He  _didn't_  take the money."

" _What?"_ Anya's heart stopped. The  _world_  stopped. " He-he didn't -"

"No." Marie smiled even as she dabbed her tears away with a knuckle. "He accepted my gratitude for your safe return but left the money, quite literally, on the table."

After its initial seizure at her grandmother's declaration, Anya's heart jerked so hard she began to tremble from head to toe.  _What did that mean?_  "I saw him, as he was leaving, but he didn't say anything..." Anya began to pace with measured steps, watching her own feet. "Did...did he say why?" When she looked up and stared at Marie, Anya had the oddest sensation of looking into a mirror of her future.

"He did not." Marie inclined her head. "But I think you know."

If Dimitri didn't take the reward, did that mean he'd meant what he told her the night of the ballet? But, if that were true, how could he just walk out on her and let her believe...

"I don't know anything," Anya said, throat closing. This was worse. Knowing Dimitri had simply chosen to exit her life - without the millions for which he'd risked everything - just made her feel...abandoned.

Marie's sadness drained away and her face shone with pride as she stepped back to take Anya in once more. "Knowing that you are alive, seeing the woman you have become, brings me joy I never thought I could feel again." She leaned forward to press an earnest kiss to Anya's forehead. "However, if there is one thing I have learned in all our years apart, it's that life is both precious and short." Marie grabbed both of Anya's hands and squeezed them. "If you want answers, track him down and  _demand_  them, Anya. Before it's too late."

But what if Dimitri was already gone? What if he wanted something from her she just couldn't give? What if he wasn't the person she thought he was, that she had fallen in love with, and she -

Did the Dowager just call her  _Anya_?

Having turned away to process the storm brewing in her head, Anya stopped and gaped at her grandmother. "How did you know -"

"I am fairly observant for an old woman." In Marie's smile Anya saw kindness, and understanding, and a beautiful, selfless, unconditional love. This single simple gesture of acceptance, calling her by the only name Anya knew inside and out, made Anya feel in that moment she was already everything she ever needed to be.

Her eyes burned and she let herself fall into Marie's outstretched arms as she had before, this time feeling the familial love she craved reach all the way to her scarred heart. Marie had no other reason to reveal the truth about Dimitri than to give Anya the tools to create her _own_  future, knowing Anya might have to leave her behind to use them so soon after finding her again.

Anya grasped at her like a lifeline, shaking with gratitude. "Thank you, Grandmama."

Tears slipped freely down the Dowager's cheeks. "Whatever you choose, we will always have each other." Anya nodded at her with a watery smile when she withdrew and Marie gave Anya's palm a kiss before releasing her. Whirling in a swish of skirts to collect herself, Anya's mind went to work. If Dimitri had left the reward money, he couldn't have gotten far; they were practically penniless by the time they'd made it to Paris. He wouldn't have left by boat. Too long a trip, especially if he were going back to St. Petersburg.  _If_  he even planned to go back. The train made the most sense, but how many train stations were there in this city?

"Grandmama, can't you tell me -"

Her question died on her lips when she turned to find Marie had stepped beyond the curtain and out of sight, leaving her alone.

Anya sighed hard. What the hell was she thinking? She had every right to this life set before her. So what if Dimitri didn't take the money? He'd left her without a second thought.

Jaw set, Anya marched right up to the curtain, pulled it aside, took one step toward her destiny -

And stopped.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't move forward, in any sense of the phrase. Not without knowing for sure.

Anya hiked up her skirts and hightailed it in the opposite direction, out into the vestibule, her grandmother's blessing buoying her above her own doubts. She startled a butler hustling toward the ballroom with a silver tray of canapés and made him guide her to the kitchens after bracing herself on his shoulder to kick off her ridiculous formal pumps.

She found a lounging Vladimir stuffing his face with  _foie gras_  and caviar near the stove, exactly where the butler said he would be.

He choked when he saw her.

"Vlad," Anya said with every ounce of regal authority she possessed, ignoring his coughing and the stares of the kitchen staff. "There's something I need you to do for me."

**Author's Note:**

> To me, Anastasia is the best animated love story of all time. Anastasia: Retold is a HUGE project I've taken on, and I really hope the scattered fandom here will come together and rally behind it. I want to give y'all something to look forward to :)
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoy it and thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Reviews = love


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